Bearclaw Valley what's fine

Cole’s breath clouded the frigid air as he pivoted, his powerful jaws closing around the neck of a coyote that had miscalculated its approach. With a sharp shake, the life in its wiry frame was extinguished, its body slumping to the snow in silence. His muscles coiled and released as he stepped over the carcass, his gaze narrowing on the others.

The remaining scavengers hesitated, their circle breaking apart as Cole surged toward another. This one snapped and yipped, its fear betraying it as it lunged sloppily. Cole met it head-on, his massive frame colliding with the smaller beast. It writhed beneath his weight until his fangs found purchase, ending its struggle with grim efficiency.

Beside him, Tvar’s ferocity mirrored his own. One by one, the pack’s numbers dwindled. Some lay lifeless in the snow, while others slinked off, limping and bloodied, their will to fight shattered.

The last coyote turned tail, its broken gait vanishing into the shadows of the treeline. Cole stood still, chest heaving, his gaze scanning the clearing for any remaining threats. The tension in his frame remained for a moment longer before he straightened, the bodies of their vanquished foes scattered at their feet.