Bearclaw Valley needlework and seedlings,

he didn’t shy from her, nor her poking and prodding stare. let her look. whatever she thought she saw, he wouldn’t hide. if anything, he would make himself more obvious for her. lifting his head, tilting his chin back, showcasing the strong ring of plush fur about his neck. it sat heavily upon thick shoulders, like a crown.

aye, a few weeks. his voice is gruff as he confirms, voice thick with the north; as hers, though his was surely a starkly different type of north. she spoke a language he did not know, though reminded him distinctly of the one his brother, @Faust, spoke. not the same, though. and faust, unlike tvar and their other pureblood siblings, was a bastard. born of elsewhere. darkly coated, like their father; the darkest of their siblings, aside from daeryn. though they shared that same gold sheen, perhaps what bonded them so closely. brothers of the same sire, of the same blood. now, his brows furrow as he thinks of his brother.

of the home tvar lost. and then of the home before, the mountains from which their father ruled. the home tvar had known first. the home faust had never known.

his attention turns back to rala. the corner of his lips tug in a restrained smirk. playful, he thought, though he didn’t acknowledge it aloud. her question brought a low huff from his chest, his expression flattening. nay, no one's caught my eye. he speaks as they continue onwards, placing one hefty black paw after the other, strides as equally low as his head between muscular shoulders. but i haven't been looking, neither. still not over the woman i was betrothed to. the thought of @Gjalla, the mere idea of her, is like a knife in the heart. he shakes her off.

he glanced at her sidelong, catching her smile. you're askin' for a reason, lass. what about you? got an eye on 'nyone?