Bearclaw Valley vegas

Glaukos had returned to the valley a day or two ago, having spent time on his own to process the interaction with Druid and Heda. He knew now that there was no trust between them. There was only fear and loathing from the women, confusion from the one child he had seen.

He found his way to the center of the valley. Soaking the scent of Rivenwood out of his coat in a spring that was familiar, then seeking a meal. The man dug in to a cache and ate something small, withered, and cold without company.

Then he moved on, doing as he had told the other occupants: seeking the hiding places of altars, finding herbs and things to restock the healer's hideaway; this was work that would take him many days, but would at least keep him distracted.

So would the removal of the rotten things on those old shelves, and the uprooting of invasive foliage. It put to use his muscles in a way that was not so abrasive but as satisfying as a physical task could be.

Like pushing a boulder. He thought, as he worked.

bearclaw was changing.
more people — albeit not very many — came to the valley, and a strange mutation had come to ameline's typically sweet scent. she gained weight, too. and athalia was the type of girl to typically take everything in stride, but admittedly, she was rather perturbed.
this was her home. it was just her and ancelin and ameline, and she did not want this to change. amneris had abandoned them, just like mother. they were the only bearclaws left.
so she thought.
she cared little for the big man and his presence, typically, but today he caught her attention. she had followed him around for a bit, watching him traipse in and out of pathways she hadn't even known existed until now. he straightened them up, revealed structures that felt almost ancient to her.
she was intrigued. what do? she asks as she crawls up to him, snuffling at an ankle of his. her eyes are wide, suspicious but curious, bright and clear. then, hesitantly; you bearclaw?

As he worked he was beheld by a slinking dark creature, and paid it no mind until it came closer. As the girl investigated him, clustering towards an ankle, Glaukos felt the instinctive urge to kick at that face. Reminded in a brief flash of violent memory of the girl attacking his belly—but that was weeks ago. This one was quicker, and seemed more curious than antagonistic.

She questioned his work, which lay bare across the path where he had cleared things, or clawed at the soil, or made his collections for later sorting.

You bearclaw? He leveled his empty expression upon her but, didn't answer. He withdrew; striding among the trees a length or two, only to stop and motion for her to follow, to look.

From there, the sight of tall trees encircled by exposed stone, and what could have been a gully. A bare earth floor led in to the abandoned space. I was born right there.

so he was bearclaw, at least in a traditional sense, but now athalia thought to test him, to see if he was worthy of her acceptance. she was the one who carried the name, after all; she sat upon the throne of the heir, in her own eyes.
her expression is unchanging as she hums a little huh sound, turning to face the opening of the little den. she wanted to crawl inside it, to live beneath the veins of the sacred earth.
what was it like?