Bearclaw Valley a songbird and her cage

tvar turned toward the trees, his paws crunching through the snow as he moved deeper into the woods. he needed to clear his head, to channel the storm building inside of him into something tangible.

the northern man had always been more at ease with action than words, and so he let instinct guide him as he stalked through the forest, his keen eyes scanning for movement.

he caught the faint trail of a hare and followed it without much thought, his mind preoccupied with nephele’s pained expression, the way her voice had faltered, the way she had left so quickly. his jaws clenched as he moved, frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

not at her—never at her—but at his own inability to fix whatever had caused that look in her eyes.