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

And as the gunner worked, he pried off piece after piece. Sharp ended talons that could be used around corners of their territory. Traps. Cole had gotten too fuckin' sick and tired o'dealin' with coyotes. He decided to take matters into his own hands, given now that Tvar had his all too full with the amazonian.

An ear flicked. Check on your wounds. He's fine. Was she deaf? But the words that came after, the long dilatation of apology had him apprehend from the grueling work he was dealing with. Slivers and rugged callouses could wait.

An apology? He didn't expect to hear one from her. But he did expect one. With a pursed lip, he bit back the rumble of gratitude in his throat. Noted.

But was it enough? It was to tolerate her. But he, too, had brought her into this valley. He was at the root that brought the tagged dog to their doors. Focused back to the piles of sharp wooded threads, he sighed. Y'understand why I did it?

The faint snap of the black wolf's paw echoed in his mind. What did Rala think of that— pristine coat, neatly groomed— to be at the centre of a spectacle?