Bearclaw Valley mollyrock

The gunner moved with a steady limp, his steps measured against the ache that radiated from his shoulder. The encounter with that damned dog was still fresh in his mind, her teeth leaving more than just marks on his flesh. The blood—hers—still lingered in his mouth, its metallic tang a bitter reminder.

His amber eyes scanned the rocky outlook ahead, where he spotted @Tvar's familiar silhouette perched against the horizon. The northerner sat with a reverence.

With a grunt, Cole made his way over, lowering himself to sit beside the other man. The stones beneath him shifted slightly, their sharp edges digging into his flank, but he welcomed the grounding sensation. Turning his head, he spat a glob of blood onto the ground, the deep red marring the stark gray of the rocks.

Some fuckin' day, he muttered, his voice carrying the edge of both fatigue and wry humor as he settled in. Amber eyes flicked to Tvar, watching the northerner's expression, waiting to see if he'd even acknowledge the mess Cole had dragged with him.