Bearclaw Valley needlework and seedlings,

the way i started giggling when i saw the last post: tvar ... i need to be put down

ah, and here was one! he arrived on black paws, a reversal of her own, with an almost blue pelt that shone with blonds and a faint, light amberesque colour. her dawn hues met ones verdant, like emeralds, shining when hit with the golden light filtering through the valley. everything the sun touched found itself cast with a soft, warm glow. comfortable.

a smile found its way upon her maw. hello, tvar, she mused, brows raising as the name rolled of her dark, red tongue. something about him seemed almost ... familiar. as if she had seen a remnant of this man somewhere before. but she pushed the déjà vu aside and instead focused on her packmate, the second - if ancelin did not count - friend she had yet to make. i am rala, snowwoman would spare the bearclaw valley wolves of her given name, now, although part of her ached in doing so. shedding a layer of her identity.

you smell me coming home? her tone was playful, a tilt of her head given to the man, eyes assessing his figure, shamelessly. her star drifted upon a large, formidable body ; its' well-kept muscles. there was nothing wanton, nor carnal about the way she gazed. her surveying spoke of both predator and prey, but which was she? and no less, which was he? ever curious, though she would allow his words to come next. innocent smile.