Bearclaw Valley iron defenses

he followed the regina into the meadow. he was low, moving amongst the brush and snow, breath misting in the cool air. the scent of coyotes clung faintly to the wind, leading them directly to the source.

the tracks were faint but fresh, leading toward a cluster of dead shrubs at the edge of the meadow. he huffed softly, signaling to ameline with a flick of his tail, then whispered: close.

he pushed ahead with enough care to avoid making unnecessary noise. the sound of rustling ahead confirmed their proximity. the coyotes were unaware—too focused on scavenging through a patch of frozen earth.

there were two of them, scraggly and lean, their heads low as they pawed at the ground.