Bearclaw Valley Accepting limits

Tvar glanced back again. For a moment, he studied her, the slight furrow of his brow betraying his curiosity. She hadn’t answered him, hadn’t even acknowledged the question.

His ears flicked, and something clicked. Of course—she hadn’t heard him.

Idiot.

Tvar didn’t sigh, nor did he let any frustration show. Instead, he adjusted, his movements slowing just slightly so they could walk more evenly side by side.

When he spoke again, he angled his head slightly to give her the opportunity to read his lips if she chose to look. “The border’s quiet,” he said simply, the words as much an observation as an attempt to engage her. “Haven’t seen anything out of place.”

He didn't do well with awkward silence.