Bearclaw Valley round town

The day was still, and for once, so was Cole.
He lay stretched beneath the sparse shade of a gnarled tree, broad shoulders resting against its rough trunk. The midday sun warmed his coat, catching in the silvered hairs that peppered his muzzle. His ears twitched lazily at the distant chatter of birds, but his eyes remained half-lidded, gazing out over the valley with a rare sense of ease.
It was not often he allowed himself this. There was always something to be done—borders to walk, game to track, a den to dig. His life had been built on work, on duty. But here, now, there was quiet. There was warmth. There was Winslet.
His thoughts drifted to her, as they often did. Her gentle voice, the soft press of her body against his when the night grew cold. A reason, at last, to rest. To breathe.
A low sigh escaped him, and he let his head fall back against the bark. Just for a little while longer, he would stay here.