Bearclaw Valley a songbird and her cage

maybe a @Tvar?

the day was quiet and much of what had transpired thus far had been tedious. nephele had taken to her usual routine of seeking out her girls in the early morning and ensuring they'd eaten recently. she'd try to preen through their fur and bathe them if she could, though more often than not they'd let her have her way for a moment of two before running off to somewhere else.

and so with both daughters clear of her doting, she turned her attention to the errand of hunting. the typical game she sought out was usually small enough for her to carry to a cache on her own, but the trail of a wolverine roaming through had been too tempting not to follow.

and so the mother sought out to chase down the beast, either to dispatch it, or run it from the valley.

Tvar had been moving along one of the lesser-traveled paths of the valley, his usual patrol routine keeping him occupied. The quiet day offered little in the way of disturbance, though his sharp eyes and ears remained vigilant. It was the faint scent of the wolverine that drew his attention, the musk carried subtly on the wind, mingling with the more familiar smells of the valley.

He followed the trail without haste, his steps deliberate, curiosity pulling him forward. It wasn’t long before he caught another scent interwoven with the first—one of his packmates, though one he hadn't met just yet. He adjusted his course, tracking both trails now, the faintest trace of interest flickering in his expression.

When he came upon her, she was crouched low, her posture sharp and focused as she studied the snow ahead. The wolverine’s trail must have led her here. Tvar approached quietly but made no effort to conceal his presence, his broad frame stepping into view.

"Wolverine?" He questioned.

nephele fell to old muscle memory routine, slinking low and breathing softly as she padded through a thin veil of freshly powdered snow. the tracks were dusted in alabaster but the scent remained firm on the wind, and so she continued to press forward.

her approaching company was offered a stiff shoulder until he neared enough to speak, her focus sidelined as she turned to answer the question. her mouth parted, and it hung agape as absinthe eyes drew upward to admire a familiar face.

a face she knew. a face she had once slept aside. a face she did not think she'd ever see again.

she backpedaled a few paces, skepticism wrinkled in her startled features. why are you here? her mind yelled but her tongue stayed speechless. in a gust of tangling wind the stormcloud could only utter a single dazed word.

"arktos?"

Tvar’s expression hardened, confusion flashing briefly in his sharp blue eyes at the name she uttered. He shifted slightly, his posture remaining steady but his gaze narrowing as he searched her face for an explanation. “I’m not sure who you think I am,” he said evenly, his voice low but firm. “But that’s not my name.”

Her reaction wasn’t what he had expected—it wasn’t fear or wariness, but something else entirely. Recognition, perhaps, though it didn’t belong to him. He kept his distance, his broad frame relaxed but poised, waiting to see if she would explain herself.

“You seem startled,” Tvar added after a moment. He shook his head, a faint frown tugging at his features. “But I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else. I'm Tvar."

all the woman could do was stand there, features withering from a dash of disbelief and affection to one hardened of chiseled confusion and anger. not arktos? she glanced him over then, sweeping from that ruddy crown she knew all too well to the blondes of his nape, the blue-greys of his back. if she had looked closer she might have noticed the subtle differences, but all nephele could see before her was her husband.

"not your name?" she repeated it with bewilderment, eyes slicking flat as she took a step backward. not his name?

"stop fucking with me," she hissed, face scrunched with bitter vexation. he'd never been one to joke, not like this. that alone should have been enough to clue the woman in, but she looked into those eyes of his and saw a life she'd once lived.

"you left me. you left our kids," the frustration burned in waves off her. she hadn't thought on why arktos had left, either assuming he'd died or found something more important than the life they'd built together. but here he was, so boldly claiming he wasn't who she knew him to be.

"why did you leave? why are you here?" but of all the question she could ask, there was one that had brewed beneath her rage for the entire time he'd been explaining himself. "and why the hell are you talking like that!?" because that was not the deep, warm wrangler voice she had know him by.

Tvar stood unmoving as her words hit him, sharp and cutting, carrying an emotion he couldn’t fully place. The bewilderment in her gaze, the anger twisting her features—it wasn’t directed at him, not truly.

And yet, he was the one caught in its crossfire.

He inhaled slowly, the cold air biting at his lungs as he held her stare, his sharp blue eyes unwavering but not hostile. “I’m not who you think I am,” he said again, his voice steady but quieter now. “I don’t know who this Arktos is to you, but I’m not him.”

Tvar’s jaw tightened as he considered how to respond. She was hurt, and she was angry—he could see it in every line of her face, hear it in every word she spat. There was no point in meeting her anger with his own; it wouldn’t change the truth.

“I don’t have answers for you,” he said finally, his tone level but with a faint edge of weariness. His nose crinkled as he looked her over once more, trying to contain the mild annoyance bubbling up at her incessant shouting.

“Will you stop shouting at me?”

again he declared with every bit of identity that he was not who she thought him to be. and if he'd said it one more time, she might have truly believed him. but all she could see suggested otherwise, and some thread of assurance grappled to her heart.

"if you are not him, why are you wearing his skin?" her question lacked punch, now wilted to only heartache and uncertainty. "you look exactly, and i mean exactly like him." but there was a lack of discernment in that statement — nephele saw only what she wanted to, and ignored what she did not.

she slumped, a twinge of regret and apology written across her features. "got a long lost twin?" she tried to ease the tension, but there was no laughter to her voice. she turned away, the scent of the wolverine but a wisp on the wind now.

Tvar watched her, his expression calm but taut, like a rope stretched near breaking. Her question hung in the air, weighted with pain and uncertainty, and for a moment, he didn’t answer. What could he say? That her grief was misplaced? That her memories lied? It wouldn’t matter—what she saw in him wasn’t something words could undo.

“I don’t know why,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, stripped of the earlier edge. “But I’m not wearing anyone’s skin. I’m just… me.” The words felt hollow, inadequate, but they were the truth as he knew it.

Her attempt at levity fell flat, though he noted the slump in her shoulders, the shift in her tone. She was searching for an explanation, something to make sense of what she was seeing, and he had none to give. “A twin?” he repeated, his tone faintly dry, almost an echo of her attempt to ease the tension. “Not that I know of.”

As she turned away, Tvar remained still, watching her for a moment longer before speaking again. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. “For whatever part of him you still see in me. For whatever he left behind.”