Bearclaw Valley hunters

@Cole

the morning dawn shines in upon the shared den of he and his mate. he feels @Towhee Jr's warmth against his backside and thinly stirs, careful to not wake her up; intent on letting her sleep in, to let her get her beauty rest.

he is lumbering as he steps out into the morning sun and stretches, bulging muscles rolling with precision beneath a coat of dark and gold fur. a halo of light practically glinting over his regal scruff and lofted tail.

he takes to the trails quickly, black paws moving one after the other; his strides efficient, his nose to the ground as he goes. doing a quick sweep of his living area before heading out further into the valley. he stops along a peak and swipes his nose along a crag, before panting, drawing in the scents futher to taste upon a wet tongue.

coyotes. the trail was a couple hours old, but it'd lead him to wherever the fuckers went. even if they weren't in the territory anymore, which he strongly doubted, they would learn not to come back. for good measure, he raises his head to the morning chill and leaves a call for cole to find him. then, he skirts down the ridge, hot on the trail of the vermin.

The Rogue had already been wide awake that morning. Sleep evaded him more often than he'd like— pacing, nightmares, the uncertainty of what he was supposed to do now keeping him chained to Winslet's den like a wounded animal.
He still had duties. This he could not ignore. A creature, monster, of habit he would always return to his post.
The birds chirped eagerly. Ears flickering, he watched the flock fly above, looking for a landing place that was safe.
This place used to be safe, too. But he didn't know how much he could credit that notion. Was there anything left? Any comfort?
Tvar's call came quick as he approached, and Cole was hastily reminded that they are the comfort. That they, the darkened warriors kissed by the sun's morning light, had to ensure that.
I smell 'em too.
His blood was already hot.