Bearclaw Valley you were not made to be understood, you were made to be experienced

he is analyzing her, searching for something he is inevitably never going to find.  she can smell the subtle shifting of his emotion, his confusion, his worry.  she wants to put him at ease, but she doesn't know how.  she is a creature suspended between survival and civility, pushing herself into either role felt like forcing a square peg through a round hole.

as he brushes her cheek and whines she lifts her snout so the top of her head is leaning against the tall boy's throat, grateful that he gleaned at least some of what she felt but concerned that she had upset him, that the feelings that festered in her bled off onto him.  although for the most part she still felt alone, she had her chestnut friend and she had him.

he breaks from their brief but emotionally charged embrace to entice her with play, and her tail gives a soft wag against each hock as her ears push forward.  so he wasn't going to send her away, even if she was broken?  even if she was stupid?  even if she was —

she arched into a delicate play bow as her body trembled in a wag, paws slap-slapping against the snow before she bounds after him, leaping wildly in circles around and at his sides.