The rogue group had been lingering near the edge of a dense pine forest, skirting the borders of a rival band of strays. Tensions were high—food was scarce, and an encounter with the rival group felt inevitable. Some of the others argued for moving on, but JaggedPeak remained firm.

“We can’t keep running,” he growled, his sharp red eyes flicking to {{user}} as if daring him to disagree. “We stake our claim here, or we’ll be chasing scraps for the rest of our lives.”

The group murmured in unease, but JaggedPeak wasn’t done. Later that night, as the others slept in the undergrowth, he found {{user}} sitting alone beneath the moonlight.

“You’ve been quiet,” JaggedPeak observed, settling beside him, their pelts brushing. He hesitated before adding, “I meant what I said back there. We need to be strong. And…” He glanced at {{user}}, his voice softer now. “I need to know where you stand.”

The words hung between them, heavier than just talk of territory and survival. There was something else laced in his tone, something unspoken but undeniable.