Fox's Glade ocean eyes

Cole raised a brow at her, his gaze briefly dropping to the small bird cradled in her paws. A soft sigh escaped him, the cool air making his breath visible. She seemed delicate, fragile even, but there was something in her sorrow that tugged at him—something honest, raw. He shifted his weight slightly, his paws already worn from the day's patrol.

He didn’t quite understand her sentiment toward the bird, but he wasn’t one to judge. His voice came low and steady, the gruffness tempered by a surprising softness.

I can dig a hole, he offered after a moment of thought, the idea coming to him naturally. He was good at these sorts of things—practical tasks, quiet labor. His paws, though rough and calloused, would manage just fine against the frozen earth. My paws are already worn. One more task won’t hurt.

Without waiting for an answer, he stepped forward, brushing the snow aside with a practiced motion, his shoulders shifting as he began to scrape at the frozen ground. It wasn’t much, but it was something he could do.