Bearclaw Valley the sharks and the minnows

at dolce’s mention of cole, tvar snorts faintly, a hint of dry humor cutting through his otherwise serious demeanor. cole’s got an eye for picking out strays, he remarks, his lips twitching into the faintest semblance of a smirk. reckon he’s right more often than not.

but as dolce continues, speaking of the heartlands and the life he’d left behind, tvar feels his respect for the man deepen. he can sense the weight dolce carries—the kind of weight that comes from hard decisions and harder consequences. it’s a weight tvar knows well, and for all their differences, he feels a flicker of kinship with the man.

running from something or running to something... doesn’t much matter, tvar says after a pause, his voice low and even. what matters is that you ran. that you didn’t let it keep you chained. takes strength to do that. more than most have.

his gaze flicks briefly to dolce, studying him for a moment before turning back to the horizon. you might not know what you’re searching for, but you’re still searching. that’s more than some can say.