Bearclaw Valley needlework and seedlings,

tvar’s steps slowed slightly as her words unfolded; eyes not faltering as he looked upon her. he wasn’t the kind to react outwardly and yet her candidness struck a chord. rala did not seem to mince words. he felt her implications were... bold. the man couldn't tell if she were insinuating something, or if she were simply blunt with her words. his ears swivel backwards, then frontwards again, a laugh upon the lips.

he found it refreshing—most wolves danced around their intentions, careful to keep themselves guarded. rala, on the other hand, wore her thoughts plainly. even if he wasn’t sure how to answer her, his silence a nonjudgmental muffle.

“aye, i don't think much about the future. pups, mates. all of it.” he shrugged, his broad shoulders rolling as he glanced back ahead. “but i suppose if the right woman came along...” his voice trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished, open-ended. he looked back to her then, hazel eyes falling on her soft face.

course i never thought i'd be the one choosing who i'd marry. betrothal comes with the territory; being heir to a throne. he mumbles, as if ashamed to admit he had ever once been such a thing. he can't hide the bashful twitch of his tail, which lost it's confidence and came to wag about his haunches. i wouldn't know what to look for in a wife. he laughs.