Bearclaw Valley make the water rise

He caught her scent before he saw her, the familiar traces of the wild clinging to her like something permanent. Anatolia as well. His gaze lifted from where he lay beneath the willow's sweeping branches, its long tendrils casting dappled shadows across his worn frame.
He didn't call out at first, simply watching as she hesitated on the edge of his solitude, as though uncertain of her place.
That wouldn't do.
C'mere, he finally murmured, his voice rough but not unkind. He shifted slightly, making space beside him in the soft grass. An unspoken invitation.
His gaze lingered on her, steady, though unreadable. Always watching. Always waiting.