Bearclaw Valley saw death on a sunny snow

tvar stops in his tracks at the sound of her voice, his tired frame pausing as rala’s pale form draws closer. his blue eyes flick toward her, taking in the concern etched into her features, though her teasing tone draws a faint huff of amusement from him. persistent little bastards. they got a few good snaps in. he confirms with a tilt of his chin, letting his eyes drop to scan her face.

you don't need to fuss over me, rala. he says to her gently, holding her in affectionate reserve. but though his pride made him hesitate, there’s no argument now. he sinks down slowly, the snow cold against his underside, the weariness in his body a collection of tense muscles and sore skin. he cannot help but indulge in her ministrations. shifting so that she might easier access his wounded side, splaying out long, thick legs where they won't impede her.

his muscles twitch beneath her touch.

i’m fine, snowbird, he says, glancing up at her with a warm smile, one he doesn't wear often—one only for her. without asking, he leans his face up to brush to hers. inhaling her scent, as if it is the last time he might be washed in it. letting his nose scathe gently through the soft, white plush of her cheek. cole probably made it sound worse than it was. a light jest, because he knows cole doesn't ever mince words. isn't the kind of man to exaggerate.

but… thank you. for this.