Bearclaw Valley the sleeper

the fur on her neck lifts alongside the prickling feeling of being watched. she turns and finds the gaze of a brown figure a little ways yonder. her nostrils flare; he reminds her of the young man from the meadow, but the scent of Ursus that reaches her quells her worry.

in fact, she's seen him before. only in passing, and she never has taken much notice, but he's known. he's one of them.

so—what's he doing? never one to roll out the welcome wagon, Avicus lifts her chin, waiting for him to approach first. she is busy, after all. if he wants to join her in securing their borders, that is fine, but she will not drop her errand to make small talk. any word beyond necessity is wasted breath, really. and for that, she loves her silent mother, her sneaky brother.

everyone else just talks too much, and she fears this one will be more of the same.