Blackfoot Forest Wanderin'

Cole huffed a low laugh, the sound rough and edged with his southern drawl. Shit, he drawled, shaking his head slowly as his amber eyes appraised the man before him. Ain't that a burden. There was no mockery in his tone, only a plain acknowledgment of the weight that such an admission carried.

Bearclaw Valley, he said simply, introducing himself by way of his home. His stance was loose, casual, but there was a steady strength in the way he carried himself, a quiet confidence that spoke of a man who knew his place in the world. We’re tucked back a ways—good folk, solid ground. You wouldn’t forget it if you came through.

Cole let his gaze linger on the man for a beat longer, searching for something beneath the surface of those ice-blue eyes. Ain’t much crazier than most folks out here, he added, his tone lighter now, almost teasing. Reckon you’ll figure it out. Takes time, though.

His tail flicked behind him, a subtle motion as he tilted his head slightly. You thinkin’ of stickin’ around here, or just passin’ through?