Bearclaw Valley mollyrock

The gunner moved with a steady limp, his steps measured against the ache that radiated from his shoulder. The encounter with that damned dog was still fresh in his mind, her teeth leaving more than just marks on his flesh. The blood—hers—still lingered in his mouth, its metallic tang a bitter reminder.

His amber eyes scanned the rocky outlook ahead, where he spotted @Tvar's familiar silhouette perched against the horizon. The northerner sat with a reverence.

With a grunt, Cole made his way over, lowering himself to sit beside the other man. The stones beneath him shifted slightly, their sharp edges digging into his flank, but he welcomed the grounding sensation. Turning his head, he spat a glob of blood onto the ground, the deep red marring the stark gray of the rocks.

Some fuckin' day, he muttered, his voice carrying the edge of both fatigue and wry humor as he settled in. Amber eyes flicked to Tvar, watching the northerner's expression, waiting to see if he'd even acknowledge the mess Cole had dragged with him.

tvar’s ears flick toward the sound of approaching steps, his sharp gaze turning from the horizon to the familiar figure of cole as the man settled beside him. the northerner’s expression remains stoic, his blue eyes briefly scanning the bloodied mess that his companion had become. though he doesn’t speak immediately, there’s a flicker of acknowledgment in the way his brow twitches, the faintest sign of concern tucked behind his guarded demeanor.

aye, some day, he finally replies, his voice low and steady, the northern accent soft but unyielding, like the steady crash of distant waves. his eyes linger on the glob of blood cole spat onto the rocks, then flick back to the man himself, taking in the tension in his frame, the way he favored one side.

what’d you tangle with this time?

Cole let out a low chuckle, though the sound was dry and humorless, edged with the kind of irritation that had been brewing for days. He leaned back slightly, wincing as his weight shifted against the tender wounds along his flank.

Some bitch with a collar, he said, his voice rough, carrying that ever-present southern drawl. Came sniffin' around the borders like she owned the place. Took a bite outta her, 'course.

He rubbed at the edge of his muzzle with a paw, eyes narrowing as he spat another glob of blood onto the rocks. Then @Rala shows up. Got between us—said the woman’s her friend.

Cole snorted, shaking his head. Friend or not, she’s got no damn business here. That collar tells me she’s trouble, but Rala? She ain’t listenin’. Got in the way, claimed it wasn’t a fight worth finishing. His gaze turned to Tvar, his amber eyes sharp. What’d you think ‘bout that?

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