Bearclaw Valley politics

ancelin appeared like a wraith on the morning moor and tvar inspected the rex with narrowed eyes. his piebald fur thick with blood, old and fresh, and thus brought a twinge of amusement and pride to his chest. ancelin was younger, but he was no doubt a strong leader. he had long since earned the respect of tvar in that.

eyes turn to the border again, this time lingering longer, searching through unmarked brush and absent trails. nay. is all he says then, ears twitching forth. back to ancelin, he can smell the coyote thick upon the man. the men of bearclaw; ancelin, himself, cole, dolce—they had all been working tirelessly the past days.

perhaps he had misjudged @Dolce.

his head lowers to his chest, form less imposing if even a fracture, and laughs softly. aye, maybe. his nose leans down to nudge snow, inhaling scent upon the ground beneath. could test that theory, if you ever want a break from coyote slaughter.