Wapun Meadow good, honest work

aw, but preferably bearclaw wolves! lookin to get some trade posts in on hunting or mercenary!

a newly minted claw, dolce felt the undeniable itch to put himself to work. to prove himself, to provide. it was a change; this wasn't any gang, where he'd rob and kill for scraps. this was something greater; something important. a second chance he wanted to sink his teeth into, to conquer. 

and so he set out; the outlaw prowled through the freshly laid snow, through the meadow where he kept his nose to the ground, huffing in whatever scents were provided, scouting for tracks, searching for anything suspicious, or perhaps prey.

The hulking outlaw moved with purpose, his frame cutting through the meadow's stillness like a blade. Cole let out a low grunt in greeting, not bothering to mask the tension that had coiled in his chest for days.

Recent border skirmishes had soured his mood, leaving him sharper, more withdrawn. The valley had always been a place of pride and strength, but lately, it felt like a tinderbox ready to ignite.

He straightened slightly, his amber eyes narrowing as they locked on Dolce. The man carried himself with confidence—good. They’d need every ounce of it if trouble found them again.

Anything out there? Cole's voice was gruff, his tone edged with impatience. His gaze flicked toward the horizon before returning to Dolce, searching for signs of news—or prey.

dolce met cole with a side-ward, knowing glance. tension rolled off the man in waves. nearly palpable. "hard week?" he grumbled with a nod in greeting. "reckon' ya look like y'need to sink your teeth into somethin'." he mused. 

he turned his attention back toward the horizon, nostrils flaring. "ain't much. caught a scent of a mule deer." he prowled forward; they'd be sure to find fresh tracks eventually. if cole chose to join him, he'd offer a silent invitation for him to hunt alongside him. and if not, he'd manage on his own.

following the faint scent, he lumbered through the snow and dead thickets.

Cole chuffed, a short sound of agreement, his amber eyes narrowing briefly as he scanned the horizon alongside Dolce.

You could say that again, he muttered, the weight of the week sitting heavy in his tone. Still, the mention of a mule deer sparked a flicker of interest. His muscles shifted as he adjusted his stance, already preparing for the hunt.

Let’s try for it, he said, stepping forward to join Dolce’s path through the snow. There wasn’t much to say beyond that, the mutual understanding of purpose between them requiring no excess words. The promise of the hunt was enough.