Bearclaw Valley Warm for the winter

Tvar stopped mid-step as realization struck—the den she worked in was his. His sharp blue eyes flicked to the pelts she was laying out, their arrangement meticulous, the faint scent of her careful work mingling with the more familiar musk of his space.

He stood in the entrance for a moment longer, silent, watching her tail sway lightly as she worked.

He spoke finally in efforts to break the silence, and announce his arrival home! “Comfortable?” he asked finally, his tone carrying the faintest edge of dry amusement. “I wasn’t expecting company,” Tvar added. He didn’t sound annoyed, only curious. “You’ve made yourself at home.”

He stayed where he was, his posture relaxed, waiting for her to explain herself. While it wasn’t unwelcome, it was unusual—perhaps Tvar had a hard time accepting good will.