Bearclaw Valley Clash of kings

d:6 ; a:18

Cole felt the impact before he saw it coming. Tvar’s shoulder barreled into his side, sending him stumbling back a few steps, his paws digging into the snow to steady himself. The sting of the blow radiated through his ribs, but he didn’t falter for long. His amber eyes narrowed, a flicker of determination sparking as he let out a sharp grunt.

Good hit, he muttered under his breath, his voice low and clipped, more for himself than for Tvar.

As Tvar advanced, Cole launched his retaliation without hesitation. His movements were swift and deliberate, his bulk shifting with surprising agility as he twisted to the side, aiming to avoid the jaws snapping for his scruff. He lowered himself, coiling his muscles like a spring before surging forward, aiming to drive his shoulder into Tvar’s chest.

It wasn’t a strike meant to overwhelm but to disrupt—to throw Tvar off balance and create an opening. Cole’s jaws parted, snapping toward the larger wolf’s flank as he moved, teeth seeking purchase with enough force to make his intentions clear.