Bearclaw Valley mollyrock

i respect rala, tvar huffs, though his voice grows colder, sharper, as if carving away any sentimentality. but respect doesn’t mean i’ll let her endanger us. if this woman’s as much trouble as you say, then she shouldn’t have made it past the borders. friend or not.

he exhales sharply, the plume of his breath curling in the cold air as his ears tilt forward, keenly focused. his muscles shift beneath his thick coat, coiled and ready, his mind running through the possibilities—the threat that could follow a collared wolf, the consequences of letting their guard down for sentiment.

if she comes back, he says, his voice dropping an octave, rumbling like distant thunder, we don’t let her linger. rala can vouch for her all she likes, but we’re not in the business of risking our pack over someone else’s past. there’s a flicker of something—frustration, perhaps, or just the weariness of knowing that the choices they make now will ripple out far beyond this moment. tvar turns his head slightly, his sharp gaze narrowing as it fixes on cole again.

we’ve got women to protect, tvar says, his voice steady but carrying a hardened edge. pups soon, too. can’t have... he pauses, his lip curling faintly in distaste, crazy bitches wandering about.