Bearclaw Valley make the water rise

intended for @Nephele

The valley cradled him in its quiet, the hush of winter wind weaving through the willow’s hanging limbs. Cole sat beneath its sprawling branches, the earth carved in a shallow divot where the roots curled deep, like the valley itself had folded inward to hold him. The air carried the sharp bite of the cold, but here, nestled beneath the ancient tree, it was softer. Muted.
He exhaled slow, watching the breath plume from his muzzle before it vanished into the stillness. The willow swayed above him, its skeletal limbs reaching toward the sky, bare but enduring. He could appreciate that.
For a while, he simply sat, forelegs stretched out, ears flicking absently to the rustle of unseen movement in the underbrush. He wasn’t waiting for anything. Not really. Just letting the weight of the day settle, the silence pressing against his ribs like something tangible.
His gaze flickered toward the distance, to the sprawl of the valley that stretched out beyond the willow’s reach. This place was steady, reliable. A quiet refuge when his mind ran too fast, too loud.