Bearclaw Valley the sharks and the minnows

the two bulwarks fall in stride, dolce reluctantly eager to keep the peace between them. for now, for the woman the both sought after. his expression eased, falling back into its pensive state, oaken eyes finding the horizon and searching. perhaps for something to sink his teeth into that wasn't tvar. 

"mm. well met." he chuffed, gruff and low. not entirely unfriendly, but certainly still tense. muscles shifted beneath fur, jaws parting for a moment to take in the many scents. he pointedly tried to ignore the way rala's lingered, as if taunting him. 

"the south. dustbowl called the heartlands." he replied, casting a side-ward glance. assessing, but not accusing. "what 'bout you? how long you been runnin' with bearclaw?"