Bearclaw Valley gold run

he forgets how to respond. his ears twitch slightly, his tail brushing against the snow in a faint wag. his expression softens, the sharpness of his features tempered by something warmer, something softer.

he isn’t accustomed to such openness—it’s unfamiliar but far from unwelcome.

tvar leans closer, his muzzle brushing gently against her shoulder. his own paws lift, signing carefully—hesitantly—as if afraid the words might falter between thought and movement.

"i like being close too."

then, tenatively, as if afraid she would pull away, he comes even closer. standing only briefly to bring his lumbering shape closer, to tuck himself to her side. his throat resting atop her head, nose nudging affectionately at one of her dark ears.

wanna fade so we can start a new one? :3