Bearclaw Valley mollyrock

tvar huffs softly, the sound low and noncommittal, though there’s a faint flicker of agreement in his gaze. settling down, sorting himself out—it’s all a tangled mess he’s not eager to pick apart. instead, he lets the weight of the conversation drift away like the morning mist, leaving it to dissipate into the cold air around them.

your little shadow—one of nephele’s daughters. met her a few days ago, he begins, his tone lighter now, tinged with faint amusement. his blue eyes shift toward cole, studying the man’s reaction. spitfire, that one.