Bearclaw Valley Clash of kings

Cole’s amber eyes found Tvar easily in the clearing, his sharp gaze cutting through the dim light. The familiar figure of the other wolf, tall and solid, was a welcome sight after the day’s labor. He carried himself with the kind of weight that came with experience, and Cole always found something steadying in his presence.

Tvar, Cole replied simply, his voice low but warm. His own tail gave a small flick of acknowledgment as he came to a stop a few paces away.

He let his eyes sweep briefly over the clearing before settling back on Tvar, noting the relaxed stance, the stretch of limbs. How was it out there? he asked, tipping his head slightly toward the forest. Quiet?

There was no urgency in his tone, just the steady rhythm of two wolves accustomed to the day's demands, sharing its weight in the sparse language of experience.