Bearclaw Valley what's fine

tvar halted.

sharp hazel eyes narrow slightly and he turns his head toward the treeline. the faint breeze carried the scent now, tugging at his nose—a musk, unfamiliar and out of place. his posture straightened instinctively, muscles coiling.

"aye," he muttered in blunt response, voice a tense timbre. his gaze flickers toward cole briefly, catching the tension in the other wolf’s frame. it wasn’t often something put cole on edge, and that alone was enough to sharpen tvar’s focus.

“doesn’t belong,” he remarked quietly, though more to himself than to cole.

tvar’s sharp gaze scanned the area, his breaths slow, visible as they skirt up into the air and swirl in rivs. then came a yip on the wind. immediately, he tenses, each muscle coming to light within his stoic body. he could see their shapes now, moving just beyond the trees—sleek, wiry forms darting through the trees.

a pack of them.

a low rumble built in his throat—a warning, meant to carry across the clearing.