Bearclaw Valley a songbird and her cage

Tvar stood unmoving as her words hit him, sharp and cutting, carrying an emotion he couldn’t fully place. The bewilderment in her gaze, the anger twisting her features—it wasn’t directed at him, not truly.

And yet, he was the one caught in its crossfire.

He inhaled slowly, the cold air biting at his lungs as he held her stare, his sharp blue eyes unwavering but not hostile. “I’m not who you think I am,” he said again, his voice steady but quieter now. “I don’t know who this Arktos is to you, but I’m not him.”

Tvar’s jaw tightened as he considered how to respond. She was hurt, and she was angry—he could see it in every line of her face, hear it in every word she spat. There was no point in meeting her anger with his own; it wouldn’t change the truth.

“I don’t have answers for you,” he said finally, his tone level but with a faint edge of weariness. His nose crinkled as he looked her over once more, trying to contain the mild annoyance bubbling up at her incessant shouting.

“Will you stop shouting at me?”