Redhawk Caldera ∧∧

Hotah lowered his head at once, shoulders folding to show he carried no threat. He allowed her to breathe him in, to read the miles written into his pelt and the silence in his bones. He had walked a long way on little more than will, and though he was built to survive, even stone wears thin beneath the seasons.
There was no attempt to rise above her. His place was not in outshining, but in offering what strength remained in service. He had lived enough years to know that purpose was best found in others—keeping, guarding, enduring. The winter would soon press down hard, and for once he wished not to face it alone.
So he held steady at the border, his posture speaking more than words might. A wolf vested not in pride, but in loyalty.
Hotah, he finally breathed. Your home seems prosperous. I'd wish to hunt in exchange for a warm bed.

YAYYY TOWHEE!