Bearclaw Valley I'm gonna send you back to schoolin',

The mist hadn’t lifted since dawn.
Cole returned to Bearclaw with mud on his paws and silence clinging to him like a second pelt. His gait was steady, though his eyes—gold and weather-beaten—held a tension that hadn’t been there the day before. Something in the way he carried his shoulders said enough: this was not a routine patrol.
He’d met a man in the glade. No words. No name. But his presence had spoken volumes.
Broad. Blooded. Voiceless. Dangerous.
Cole didn’t trust the quiet ones. He was one himself.
He moved through the thinned underbrush near the denning slopes, breath fogging in the cool spring air. A raven croaked above. He flicked an ear but didn’t stop. Not until he came to the place where their leaders often gathered when the frost light filtered just right through the canopy.
There, he planted his paws and raised his muzzle. A low, gravel-cut howl echoed from his chest—not urgent, but pointed. Summons for either @Ameline or @Ancelin. Whichever came first.