Bearclaw Valley I'm so full of love, I could barely eat

The morning was quiet, the kind of stillness that only existed before the sun fully broke over the valley. A thin veil of mist clung to the ground, swirling gently with each shift of the breeze. The world was bathed in hues of pale gold and soft blue, the promise of a new day carried on the crisp air.

Cole stood alone in a clearing, his breath misting in steady, rhythmic puffs as he worked. The massive wolf moved with deliberate focus, muscles coiling and stretching as he pressed his body against the weight of a fallen tree. It had taken him the better part of an hour to roll it into position, but now, each shove and heave drove it further along the frost-laden earth.

His paws dug into the ground, claws scraping against stone and soil. Sweat glistened on his pale fur, the effort painting streaks of dampness along his shoulders and flanks. The exertion burned, but it was a welcome fire—one that cleared his mind and honed his determination.

The valley remained silent save for the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant call of a bird, but Cole didn’t pause to take in the serenity. This was his moment, his time to push himself further, to become stronger—not just for himself, but for the valley, for Bearclaw. For those who looked to him with trust in their eyes.