Bearclaw Valley crash of worlds

whatever rivalry they might’ve had felt irrelevant now, especially with the pressing matters at hand.

he offers a low rumble in return, dipping his head in acknowledgment. morning., he echoes. as dolce gestures ahead, tvar’s sharp eyes follow the motion, narrowing slightly at the unmistakable scent of coyotes hanging in the air. it’s thick, pungent, and far too close for comfort.

yeah, he signs as well as speaks. been smelling them all week. they’re getting bolder. his lips curl faintly in disdain as he shifts his weight, glancing back at dolce. can’t have another attack like this. not with pups on the way.

sure they got beds down, or will soon. he jerks his muzzle toward the trail ahead.