The life of Leroy was not a life of many philosophies, but it would be a total lie to say that he had not a fair share of life lessons. ‘Never fuck with someone who actually gives a damn’ was the primary ideology which he lived by, but in a close second is ’intimidation is an imbecile’s enterprise’ - the latter of which coming about as relevant in this scenario. To believe that looks and personality alone could determine one’s danger is one of the worst mistakes one can make; once upon a time, the guardsman made the exact same mistake, and he ended up in some debilitated swamp thousands of miles away from home. Since then, the mongrel vowed to never judge one by their characteristics ever again, and so far it has worked profoundly. Thus, as the gray-pelted hound made the scene, he wasn’t thrown off by the immense feline and his accomplice’s presence - unlike his swamp-dwelling comrades.

It was not the lion’s appearance that brewed enmity within Leroy’s system; it was both of the fuckers’ stenches that automatically made the canine hate the foreigners. They smelled of the Rosebloods, need he say more? Was it not the Rosebloods who murdered two Tanglers?

Jim, Arrow, both of whom in attendance, yet none of whom spoke up about the crimes committed against Delilah and Whisper. A voice of reason was needed.

The most logical route for Leroy to take was to completely ignore the transpiring interaction between the two parties of already-present Tanglers and Rosebloods. Assuming that he were to get himself worked up, some serious damage could be done to his frail figure, which was currently recovering from a stroke. However, hate and rage blinded him, a ferocious flame of venomous loathing crackling from the coals of his aged heart. Thinking properly became increasingly difficult as each shaky step conveyed him closer to the group, whilst cloudy ideas of what exactly to say filled his mind like steam. Finally, he had found himself at the assembly’s perimeter, awaiting the precise time to make an entrance. As the apparent leader’s words concerning clan affairs began running dry, Leroy then chose to speak.

”Couldja just shut up for a damn sec, there?” he’d request in response to all that was being said, sensing a migraine slowly erupting from his nerves.

Then, the mutt faced the supposed one in charge, a disgust clearly exhibited through his amber glare alone. The lion had touched upon the topic of scrutinizing the tribes’ relations; did he not know of his own lots’ crimes?

"Well, you better’ve packed a few band-aids if you wanted to patch up this relationship," he’d quip gratingly, tone completely devoid of kindness, ”considering some of your cronies murdered two of our own. So if I were you guys, I’d either take a fucking hike, or graciously apologize.”

”Whisper. Delilah. Both of ‘em killed in cold blood. At both of the scenes of their mangled bodies, we got a whiff of your lot’s godawful stench. Now, you all casually strut into our territory, and don’t even bring it up. Not very professional, if y’ask me.”