Bearclaw Valley up the wolves

He approached quietly, his paws crunching softly against the snow. Stopping a short distance away, he tilted his head, his blue eyes lingering on her lanky frame against the backdrop of the open sky.

Morning, kid. He rumbles out, head tilting as if to peek around her imposing silhouette.

Tvar had been young once, too, staring out at the world beyond the snowy outcrops of Winterhelm. Seeking to feel bigger than what he was. The open world had a way of doing that to a young one. Invigorating.

Eventually, he'd had no choice but to leave it behind.

He huffs, cold breath visible against the morning light. You belong to Nephele, right?