Bearclaw Valley And now it's hard to breathe

As she hissed, his ears fell back; it wasn’t something he’d ever stopped, or even thought to, consider. That she had any interest in him beyond their friendship, he’d been oblivious, as was the usual with him. “You were in heat… I thought…” he struggled to find his words, a frown tugging down at the corners of his lips. “I thought that was the only reason. And because we’re friends you—you didn’t mind it…” He was entirely uncertain now, even more so than before. His brows knitted together he cast his eyes downwards, staring hard at the ground as if it might offer to him all of the answers that he was searching for—but such things required a voice in order to be shared, and the earth around them just wasn’t capable of providing anything of the sort. Seconds later and he was looking up again, gaze snapping back to meet hers as he spoke once more: “You have your sister—Indra’s there for you, she always is, you don’t need my help.” Did that make him feel any less guilty for not paying closer attention to her? Absolutely not.

“I don’t know what you want,” he countered, at a loss on what to do. “I’ll be there for them. And why would I need to explain to them what the are…? They’re our children, won’t that be easy enough for them to understand?” He didn’t understand what she meant, not in the slightest. They would be their children, members of the second generation to be born into Bearclaw Valley—what else was there for them to know? What else would need to be explained?

Alexander was momentarily taken aback by her words, and then found his body growing rigid when the distance between them was lost; he was taken by surprise, though it took no longer than a few seconds for him to realise what was going on. He relaxed and lowered his head just enough to rest it on her own as he asked his next question: “What do you want, Laurel? Me or her title? Both?” What was her end goal, what did she want the most? “Do you really want to be with me, or are you just saying that?” Curiosity, perhaps, but primarily just the need to fully understand her; he wanted to know what was going on inside her head, he wanted to be able to do whatever he could to keep her content and there with him, though it was not only for the children. She had become someone he considered a friend somehow, without him even noticing initially, and he wasn’t ready to lose that.

Pulling his head back for a moment, he stared down at her, merely watching her expression. Should she allow it, he’d touch his nose to her forehead before resting his chin atop her crown and leaning into her, shaking his head slowly. “They already are princes and princesses,” he noted with an exhale. “They aren’t even here yet, but their crowns are already there. You don’t have to worry.” If ever the day came for him to pass along the throne, it would not be to any one child in particular that it would go—each of his would have a fair chance, each of his would have as much of a right to the valley as the others, and that would never change.