Bearclaw Valley bakers dozen

token delivery! @Ameline

The morning air was crisp, the kind that bit at the lungs and carried the faint, earthy scent of damp soil and fallen leaves. Cole moved with purpose, his large paws pressing into the frost-kissed ground as he wove through the undergrowth. He held his head low, but not in submission—rather, in focus. Clutched carefully in his jaws were the tokens he had gathered: delicate bird skulls bleached by time, a smooth shell bearing whispers of the river’s current, and the small skulls of rodents.
A strange collection to some, perhaps, but he knew their value. These were offerings—proof of his diligence, his devotion to the valley and its ways. The tokens had weight beyond their physical form. They were a promise. A testament to his capability.
His thoughts drifted briefly to Winslet, as they often did. Her gentle smile, the warmth of her touch. She was his comfort, his steady place in this world. She had softened the rough edges of his heart, but she had not dulled him. No, she gave him reason to be sharp.
Cole’s eyes narrowed as he crested a small hill. He sought Ameline—the Regina, the woman who bore their traditions like armor. He respected her, deeply. She was the kind of leader who had earned it. And now, he would present what he had gathered.
He paused, adjusting his grip on the tokens. Then, with a low chuff to announce himself, he pressed onward.