Bearclaw Valley Clash of kings

He regarded Tvar with a faint, unsaid pride, the weight of the spar leaving his muscles pleasantly sore.

Good match-up, I reckon, he drawled, his voice calm but laced with the subtle satisfaction of a hard-earned victory. His amber eyes met Tvar’s with a flicker of respect, a silent acknowledgment of the effort the larger wolf had put into their bout.

He rolled his shoulders, the tension easing from his frame as he stepped back, allowing Tvar the space to recover fully. You got some power behind those moves, he added after a beat, his tone lighter, almost teasing. Might’ve had me if you weren’t lookin’ for a nap halfway through.

A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he turned slightly, signaling that the spar was over but the camaraderie remained intact. It was a good match, one that left Cole feeling sharper, more focused, and appreciative of the wolves he stood beside.