Bearclaw Valley And now it's hard to breathe

Whilst anger and sorrow painted her features, his own reflected only the confusion he felt. He did not understand what was going on or from where her words—her claims—came; he did not understand what was happening, nor the reason behind her outburst, and that frustrated him to no end. As of late, it seemed as if everyone knew something that he did not, that everyone could read into emotions that he failed to recognised—everyone knew the fears and pain of others, all except for him. And this he wanted to change, he wanted to understand, but each confrontation left him feeling more in the dark.

“What are you talking about?” he asked in a single breath, frustration touching his tone. “No one’s bullying you, especially not me. Why would I want you to leave? You’re my friend, Laurel.” The word was not one he used too often, the process of gaining friends something that he often avoided; that which was gained could then be lost, and he couldn’t stand the thought of losing any more than that which he already had. “And I do give a fuck—about you and them,” he added, tilting his muzzle to point towards her abdomen. “They’re family. And you’re family, too.” He didn’t view her as a sister—he couldn’t, not after having sex with her, that would be too weird—but he did consider her a member of his family, though the exact connection was unclear.