Bearclaw Valley Far across the blue waters

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smoke stood still as stone, eyes on the empty sprawl below. the wind carried nothing—no den-scent, no bodies, no living claim.

he flicked his tail once, sharp.

ain’t nobody here, he said, gravel-low. place’s a ghost town.

tzar surged, young and aching for answers, but smoke didn’t move. just held the ridge with him, letting the boy feel the truth of the silence. he'd be there for comfort if he wanted it.

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