Bearclaw Valley crash of worlds

aw! looking to start working on his merc trade..

word traveled quick about the recent coyote attack. a young girl—winslet, he recounts hearing in whispers—had gotten ambushed by coyotes. it seemed like they were getting bolder. likely because of the cold and their own mating season. dolce felt it was his responsibility to help even the odds; to ensure an attack wouldn't happen again, especially to any of the women who've fallen pregnant. 

and so he found himself prowling along the territory, following the once stale scent trail of coyotes. he'd hear them in the night, while he'd bedded beside his mate, yowling and yipping. and while he might not know winslet, his blood boiled with ire. he wouldn't allow it to happen again.

the scent grew stronger. he was hoping to find their densite, where he was sure the females would start digging into the earth and settling down. catch them off guard, maybe. with purpose he pushes forward, expression set with determination.