Bearclaw Valley Clash of kings

d: 15; a: 2

Cole saw the movement, the slight shift in Tvar’s frame that signaled the incoming attack. His eyes sharpened, and as Tvar lunged forward, aiming high, Cole twisted his body with a quick pivot, his paws crunching in the snow as he sidestepped the charge. The feinting snap of Tvar’s jaws brushed close, but it didn’t catch him off guard. Instead, it left an opening.

Nice try, Cole rumbled, a glimmer of amusement flashing in his amber eyes.

With practiced ease, Cole used his momentum to swing back around, his muscles coiling as he drove forward, this time aiming low. He barreled toward Tvar’s hind leg, attempting to knock him off balance and put the larger wolf on uneven footing. His move wasn’t brute force—it was calculated, targeting Tvar’s center of gravity in an effort to throw him off kilter.

Snow kicked up in his wake as Cole kept his frame low and tight, his focus unyielding. The spar wasn’t just a display of strength; it was a test of cunning, and Cole was intent on proving he could be just as clever as he was powerful.