Bearclaw Valley gold run

he hesitates for only a moment before lowering his head to tear into the meal alongside her; savoring the warmth of the fresh kill.

his ears flick toward her as she signs again. her laugh, quiet and soft, draws the faintest curl of his lips. always hungry as of late. he notes it, a flicker of recognition within hazel eyes but doesn’t press, instead settling his gaze back on her with a faint hum.

better now, he signs in reply, before burying his mouth into his chest fur briefly when he laughs heartily, almost bashful. which, is frankly a bit embarrassing. not very manly of him, but he can't help it.

then, a quizzical expression comes upon a handsome maw. carefully, he raises a paw to sign: you look cold well. the look on her face tells him whatever he signed made zero sense and his tail brushes at the snow awkwardly, dipping to take another bite from the beaver.