Bearclaw Valley Accepting limits

Tvar shifted slightly, his tall frame turning toward the wolf approaching him. The chuff she offered was soft but deliberate, and he inclined his head, acknowledging her with the quiet steadiness he carried in all things.

She wasn’t a stranger—her scent marked her as one of the pack—but he didn’t know her name or much else beyond that.

For a moment, he studied her, his sharp blues taking in the bird perched at her shoulder and the measured way she held herself, maintaining a cautious distance. He noted the notched ear, the subtle wariness in her posture, and decided to speak.

“Good morning,” he began. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” Tvar remained still, allowing her the space she seemed to want, yet ensuring his presence wasn’t dismissive. With a swipe of his tail, he offered her a place upon the large sandstone he'd made his perch. "Tvar." He introduced.

His ears twitched, perhaps from nerves.