Bearclaw Valley exodus in America

Cole led Dolce through the territory with the practiced ease of someone who knew the land like the back of his paw. His ears twitched, keeping track of every sound, but his posture was relaxed, a sign that Dolce had nothing to fear—yet. The scents of Bearclaw were thick here, woven into the trees and soil, a tapestry of wolves bound by duty and survival.

Pausing at a clearing near the heart of the territory, Cole lifted his head and called out, his deep voice resonating through the trees. He summoned @Ameline or @Ancelin, knowing they would handle Dolce’s arrival with the care it required. A new recruit meant new dynamics, and it was important to lay the groundwork right.

His sharp gaze flicked to Dolce, taking in the way the other wolf carried himself. There was a strength there, one that could be honed and forged into something Bearclaw could rely on. Cole offered a faint nod, his way of silently acknowledging the beginning of something promising. Then, he waited, the echoes of his call still fading into the distance.