Bearclaw Valley if he fell in love

he doesn’t interrupt, letting her finish, though the corners of his mouth twitch when she adds the sheepish comment at the end. his gaze lingers on her scars for a beat before shifting back to her face.

-it’s not bland,- he signs quickly, passionately, in fierce rebuttal of her self-deprecation; his lips pulling into a small smile. -it’s yours. and it shaped you.-

he leans forward slightly, brushing his nose against her cheek briefly in a gesture of affection. pulling the woman into a bear hug, strong forelegs grappling with her own, pressing his nose to hers; a playful growl vibrating from his mouth against hers. my strong wife, he thinks.

then, his head pulls back, to press a lingering kiss upon her forehead. grooming between her ears like an overbearing mother hen, warm laugh bubbling up a thick chest as he does so.