Bearclaw Valley crash of worlds

he meets the clearing like a blade drawn from its sheath, low and fast, the thunder of his paws swallowed only by the snarls around them.
he does what must be done: cuts down the threats that get too close, covers dolce’s flank when the chaos thickens, moves like a ghost behind the curtain of blood and yowling.
a coyote lunges—he sidesteps it, slams his weight into its ribs with a crack that sends it tumbling limp. another tries to circle back—he snaps its spine in one bite. efficient. clean. detached. tvar ensures no one interrupts. this is a purge. a reckoning.
a funeral in motion.