Bearclaw Valley hym

like seeing lightning in the corner of one's eye, stigmata's silver eyes flashed over indra approvingly as she slipped by to redirect them. he watched her as much as she watched him; not so that he could reject her the moment he found ill with her performance, but so that he could know whether or not if she was a wolf worthy of being usurped.

the mottled grey slunk after her, shifting mental gears as he could no longer afford to rent out the space of his thoughts to the bearclaw mother. he probably could have relaxed more. indra's willingness to take him for a test run -- to risk abandoning her children to get more acquainted with his able body -- were positive leanings. but stigmata took little to no joy in the small victories. he was a wolf ever the general, waged eternal in a great war for power. he wouldn't relax until he had it again.

slowly, wordlessly, he pressed in close against her when the sheep's trail strengthened. an electricity passed between them and individual intents became one as the pair of them began speaking in a primal and ancient tongue: the most base, elemental language shared between wolves engaged in a hunt. he was now an extension of her, and vice versa, the two of them splitting like hairs as they aimed to box in their prey from either side.