Bearclaw Valley gold run

tvar glances toward the falcon as towhee gestures, his sharp blue eyes following the sweep of her paw to where the bird perches. he watches the creature preen itself, its small frame silhouetted against the sky. ghost. he signs it back to her, a slow, mimicry of her movement, the faintest nod of acknowledgment accompanying the gesture.

as towhee recoils from the meal, his focus snaps back to her, his brows furrowing in mild concern. she’s quick to recover, but his gaze searches her face. her ptero—thank you for the meal—comes with a note of finality, and tvar’s tail shifts once, betraying his internal debate.

“you’re welcome,” he says aloud, paired with a small, encouraging nod. but his eyes linger on her a moment longer, studying her.

he shifts closer, his head tilting slightly as he tries to catch her gaze. “not hungry anymore?” he asks gently. he’ll wait, if she needs him to, and he’ll stay, even if she says nothing at all.