Bearclaw Valley mesmeric revelation

Her name suited her, Ashlar decided, turning it over.  It was short and abrupt, like a bark, and it gave a sense of the look she always seemed to wear.  Some strange mix of both disregard and wanting impatience.

I'm glad you are back.  He'd thought about saying a number of things, but the quiet seemed right.  Ashlar drew heavy assumptions, at all times, of what he knew, and like his father he used those to wrap himself and fit where he was needed.  She was sick, hurt, and likely had even less patience now.  If he wanted to stay, he would need to make himself useful as company, not tiring.  He could think of no stories she'd want to hear, but maybe, if he learned more about her.  Then he could be better.

The quiet words were all he had that he felt needed said, and after that he lapsed into quiet, still except for the slow and quiet brush of his tail against the earth behind him.