Bearclaw Valley make the water rise

Cole watched the morning light stretch across the landscape, painting the world in muted golds and blues. It was quiet, peaceful—the kind of stillness he had learned to appreciate.
At her question, he exhaled slowly, considering. The plains, he admitted, voice steady, thoughtful. Reminds me of home. No trees, no ridges—just sky and grass, stretchin’ on forever.
His gaze shifted to her then, studying her expression, the way the wind tugged at her fur. Doable? he asked, curiosity laced in his tone. She seemed the kind to have wandered far, to have seen more than most. Maybe she had an answer to the quiet longing that stirred in his chest.