Bearclaw Valley crash of worlds

tvar’s patrol takes him along the eastern border, where cole’s makeshift defenses stand sharp and imposing against the frost-dusted terrain. his sharp gaze sweeps over the stakes, testing their sturdiness with a brief press of his paw. satisfied for now, he continues, his breath misting in the crisp air.

in the distance, movement catches his eye. dolce. tvar pauses briefly, considering whether to stay on his path or divert toward the man he’s still not entirely sure about. with a low huff, he decides to approach.

if only to gauge the worth of the bruin and see if he was worth a damn.

when he’s close enough, narrowed eyes swipe over the brute and he chuffs a low greeting, falling in stride with him.