Bearclaw Valley and heaven knows,

but was it alright? there was a deep, anxious pit within his stomach that told him that perhaps, no, everything was not alright. maybe this really was the end of whatever he could have had with the doe. but he would only nod at the south-mans words.

and she was gloomy. reclusive. and it was his fault. frederick wanted to run to her, to throw himself into the valley, to her feet and apologise. to prove himself worthy of her affection, of her proximity. space, cole had said. frederick did not want to push her further away, maybe space would be good. maybe some time away from him was what she needed to eventually see him again. yeah, was all he said.

a breath. i hope so. i just don't want to mess it up again—i was a dick, he sighed, disappointed with himself. he brought her over to his den and then his boss showed up and he had to escort her out, but he wasn't even nice about it: he completely iced her out! wracked with guilt, he shut his eyes for a moment. it really is.

but when frederick opened his eyes, he recognised something: a little dot of brown and ginger on the horizon. and his heart seemed to shake as it tried to jump out of his throat and sink into his stomach all at the same time. he wondered, then, if she could see him. stepping aside, past cole, he watched her. tail tucked between his legs, apologetic.

and he wondered, again, if he should go to her. if she would want to talk. hell, not even talk: if she would even want to listen. and so he would step forwards, once, twice. but that was all he could muster. he wanted to see, to hear, from her, that it was okay. that she had his permission to come towards her. to be near her.

to make this right.