Bearclaw Valley There isn't much left

with new little ones, ancelin was on higher aggression alert. unfortunately it was the polite pewter man at his borders which received a glimpse of this: the ragged-furred rex barreling out of dew-wet branches, bearclaw curled into the pelt at his chest and the rest of him studded with twigs, tiny bones, sap.
a snort. he drew up, tail lashing, and sniffed the air. a loner with little threat and some familiarity. "were you at the big hunt last fall?" ancelin asked, aggro ebbing as curiosity took its place.
a gift. a solemn face. a joiner? a messenger? he waited.