Bearclaw Valley flying high

The path to Bearclaw Valley was a winding one, carved through dense thickets and rocky outcroppings that Cole knew like the back of his paw. The air here felt different—cooler, fresher, alive with the quiet hum of the valley's pulse. As they crested a rise, the sprawling territory revealed itself below, its towering pines swaying softly in the crisp wind, the shadows long and lazy in the late afternoon sun.

Cole paused, his amber gaze flicking to @Tvar. The younger wolf had followed without hesitation, his sharp blue eyes betraying an unspoken curiosity, even if his steps remained guarded. Cole huffed softly, a sound that was equal parts approval and anticipation.

This is it, he said simply, the faintest hint of pride touching his drawl. His gaze lingered on the heart of the valley for a moment before he tilted his head back, letting loose a deep, resonant howl that echoed off the rocky cliffs and filled the air with its commanding timbre.

The call was meant for one wolf.

When the sound faded, Cole lowered his muzzle, his eyes scanning the horizon. He didn’t need to say much; his stance, the way he held himself, said it all. They would wait here—patiently, deliberately—until @Ameline came to meet the wolf he’d brought to her doorstep.