Bearclaw Valley a reckonin' is comin'

with a short, sharp bark, he surged forward again, cutting off another coyote’s retreat. it lunged at him in desperation, its teeth snapping inches from his muzzle, but tvar was quicker.

his fangs sank into its shoulder, and the creature screeched, its struggles weakening as he drove it to the ground. the snow beneath them was painted crimson, and when the scavenger stilled, tvar straightened, blood staining the dark fur around his mouth.