Bearclaw Valley needlework and seedlings,

and that was where their thoughts, their wishes for the future, diverged from one another. tvar claimed to not think of the future, not of pups, nor mates, and perhaps rala truly was simply a girl, a woman who thought too often of what may soon be her stomach, swollen with life, and the man that may be alongside her when it came time for her children to be introduced to the world ; one not nearly as cruel as the one that she had been born into.

if the right woman came along, he said, then. and snowwoman took notice as to how his hazel gaze seemed to linger upon her features for a moment. skin, for a moment, felt a rush of blood come to her cheeks, warming the pinkness beneath her fur, circulating within her body. she thought back, then, to the men she had met. to those in which she had found handsome, her thoughts lingering on the first she had met...

she did not mean to lead this man astray, merely unabashed, unashamed when it came to what left her mouth. but he continued, then, and she would listen in silence, until his words came to a halt. snow-cub would reply: i was once, ah, an heir, snow-pelt woman. betrothed to crow-feather man. a few days before she had left, the title had then been bestowed upon her younger brother, and a younger crow-feather lass.

betrothed, as you say. after ... she made a face, then, her brows drawing together, as if she could not quite word what she wanted to say. as if it was the sentence itself that refuses to leave her maw, stuck like burrs upon a thick, matted pelt. ah, well, betrothed to make peace between two packs - togetherness, after ... a difficult time.

humming, then, she commented: a wife who shares your beliefs, eh, your hobbies? one that makes you happy. good conversation, good heart. and, obviously, one you think is pretty, an airy chuckle left her dark lips. her tail swayed behind her as they walked towards the dens. the sky was darkening quickly, now.