Bearclaw Valley Where’s the fire? What’s the hurry about?

She pounced from the stone without hesitation when her mate charged forward, bridging the gap between the Bearclaws and the stranger. The sleek black wolf stopped in her tracks, and stiffened, holding her ground in a manner that spoke of courage when faced with the approach of two territorial wolves. Ameline's pace slowed, so that she could accentuate her step with the stiffness of dominance that would demand a show of deference. 

The wolf was clearly not Annorak, and for that she was both relieved and disappointed. It would have been easier to charge toward the wolf known for abandoning his pack and deserving of punishment; this one...Ameline could find no excuse to attack blindly, not when they wanted sorely for allies and new packmates. 

The woman was stately, though her tattered ears and scarred face were indicative that she'd faced conflict before. She was otherwise well-kept, though it smelled as though she'd travelled through the marsh recently. 

"You're headed for Bearclaw Valley," She called out, as she came to a halt several bodylengths still from the stranger. "That land ith claimed."