Bearclaw Valley needlework and seedlings,

he watched her closely. the vibrance in her eyes, the joy not lost on him. with the movements of a lumbering bear, he rumbles as she steps closer to him, the twitch of his tail betraying his receptiveness. we’ll see. he responds, chin lifting to raise his eyes as he looks down a scarred snout at her.

a warrior’s habit.

friends. he wasn’t sure he’d describe himself as the kind of man who gathered those easily. “time’s been… steady,” he replies, thoughtfulness encompassing a handsome, dark mug. his ears swivel, a reminder of continued attention to what was around.

recalling what cole told him upon his joining, he recites it to rala. “bearclaw’s good land. good people.” his gaze lingers upon her face. everything about the woman is soft, save for suppose the paws she stood upon. remnants of a hunter’s muscle that coiled her plush form. a beautiful face. tvar can’t help but notice it. he is only a man.

“don’t know about friends, though.” he added after a pause, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, “aye, takes more than a few weeks to build those.”

for him.

he draws himself forwards, passing the smaller woman, offering the subtle jerk of his head as he glances over a large shoulder. i’ll walk ya home, lass, talk on the way. ‘ts getting late.