Bearclaw Valley the sharks and the minnows

to wake up in strange lands, to remember nothing if not only your name...

dolce was hardly a sentimental man, save for only when in rala's presence. his sympathy—or lack thereof, in most cases—was rarely handed out. it was hard for the man to do so, when he'd been taught that such things were a weakness. to be devoid, was to be strong, unshaken. but an inkling had at least set its seed in his chest, as he wondered how miserable that must have felt. how aimless the man beside him wandered. 

perhaps it's because, in a way, he saw a glimpse of himself in tvar. how strange of a feeling that was, when he was grappling with primal disdain. competition. but they are only men; and before rala, cole, bearclaw...he'd been lost, too. 

he set aside that jealousy that had riled him so, his eyes glinting with what may be understanding, if only vaguely. "you forgot who you were? can't imagine what that'd feel like." he rumbled thoughtfully, no hostility present. to overcome that hardship meant tvar was strong. and strength, at the end of the day, was someone dolce respected. 

"seems like cole has a way of findin' the best in folk." the way rala does, too, but he doesn't mention her name. there is no need too. and if cole respected and trusted tvar...then maybe, begrudgingly, dolce could learn to do the same. 

that might come in time, and he wouldn't hope for it. just merely acknowledge it. 

"bit a both, i reckon. the heartlands didn't want me no more, so i left. didn't know what i was searchin' for, when they found me." dolce replied. he left the they hanging, and assumed a man was witted as tvar would guess correctly. 

there was a pause, a second where he might have considered revealing more. "didn't wanna live the life i had." was all he'd provide. 

look at these two idiots bonding