Emberwood Living in a wasteland

he dips his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. i do, he says, looking upon her with numb eyes. bearclaw valley, just southeast of here.

his gaze shifts, tracing her form briefly before settling on the crude shelter she'd carved into the earth. for a moment, he considers the effort it must’ve taken to dig it alone. in attempt to lighten the mood: a soft huff escapes him as he gestures toward the dugout with a small tilt of his muzzle. that what you call a den?