Bearclaw Valley A war in my name

tvar is closing the gap, his powerful strides eating the distance between them as his breath mists in the cold air. he watches her movements closely, reading the rhythm of her steps, the way her tail sways and her ears flick back toward him. she’s fast, but he can see the subtle shifts in her pace—calculated, deliberate. she’s up to something, and he knows it.

still, he doesn’t slow. his instincts drive him forward, his mind focused on the hunt. the ground blurs beneath him as he angles himself slightly, preparing to lunge and either sweep her legs out from under her or drive her off balance. but then she moves—quick and sharp, a blur of pale fur as she skids and twists into the air. tvar’s momentum carries him forward, just as she’d intended, and his paws scrape at the earth as he tries to adjust. it’s too late. she’s above him, and his gaze snaps upward in time to catch the arc of her leap.

he skids to a halt, his muscles bunching as he whirls to face her again. she lands with a soft thump, her grin wide and triumphant, and tvar can’t help the low, rumbling chuckle that escapes him.

you’ve been holding out on me, regina,