Bearclaw Valley the sleeper

It was a slow start for Ashlar in this unfamiliar place.  According to the rules of his entry, the boy knew he needed to learn how to fight.  Skoll had taken an active interest but Ashlar was a reluctant pupil; he did not wish to hurt anyone, and it showed in how abysmally he'd progressed.

Ashlar kept his tail tucked as he roamed the woods near the border in search of prey.  He could at least help to feed them if he could not do anything else; he'd grown up in forests just like these and knew the secrets of the smaller prey.  Like the stoat whose trail he followed now.

His nose was to the ground as he came up on the borders, and suddenly the smell of wolf overpowered the scent of the small creature.  Ashlar's head shot up and his ears folded back.  It had crossed the scent trail, so it would now be difficult to determine which direction it had gone.

Ashlar let it go, resigned, and turned to continue searching for new prey.  Before he could do so, his eyes lit on a figure that stood on the edge of the meadow.  He hadn't met her yet, but he hesitated.  He hadn't met many here yet, a shy desire to make as little an impact as necessary winning out over his need for company.