Bearclaw Valley [m] burning skies

then, she moves her paws, deliberate and slow. he recognizes it as communication, a language he doesn't yet understand? meaningful. her effort to bridge the gap between them isn't lost on him. it's humbling in a way.

when she leans in to press a kiss to his cheek, his ear flicks slightly, betraying the quiet warmth that spreads through him. for a moment, he simply lets it settle, lets himself take in the moment—the way her breath brushes his fur, the closeness of her.

his voice is low when he speaks, though there's a softness to it that isn't always there. that language—what you just did with your paws—will you teach me? his gaze searches hers, hazel meeting gold with an earnestness that feels almost raw.