Bearclaw Valley must they subject even my pain to the disapproval of their gaze?

She wouldn’t enter the valley, wouldn’t lay alongside him at night. He missed her, a feeling that amplified his guilt tenfold. She was like this because of him, because he could not control himself—he hadn’t been able to protect her, just as he hadn’t been able to protect Kendra. Another friend was let down, the only difference being that this time he did not lose her to the afterlife; despite what had happened, she was still alive, and he wanted to keep it that way.

With eager steps he made his way up the path, finding her not atop the boulder but down beside it. For a moment, he froze, able to move neither forward nor backwards as he gazed at her. He was hesitant but eventually pushed through it, continuing towards her with a low chuff. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to comfort her and let her know everything was going to be alright, but memories of himself prevented him from closing the distance. After Cicero, he’d not wanted a single creature touching him, and assumed the same for her. So he crouched down in front of her, careful not to let their bodies touch, and uttered a soft, “Hey.”

Alexander discovered quickly that he didn’t like the distance between them. He didn’t want to keep away from her, he wanted to press his nose into her fur and lay his head over hers—but he couldn’t do any of that, he had to restrain himself.