Bearclaw Valley the sharks and the minnows

there's a moment where dolce pauses. speechless, as the weight of tvar's words sink in. it sounded as if the man could relate—that he'd once been running from something, with no sense of direction or self. there's a kinship that spawns then, one dolce hadn't anticipated. 

he didn't feel strong for the longest time, and perhaps he still doesn't. but tvar's words quell whatever doubt that shrouds him, the guilt. "ran with some bad folk for my whole life. i was a bad man." he revealed, his eyes cast towards the horizon. 

"don't wanna be that no more. saw what it did with the people i ran with." the gang he'd given his all too, only to have been stabbed in the back. but now, talking with tvar, he can't help but wonder if they'd actually freed him. 

they might've left him for dead, but he picked himself back up and was dead set on making a new name for himself. on sculpting a new life, where he wasn't the awful, brutal man, but a decent one. 

he clears his throat, his gaze shifting back to tvar. he was a good man, and dolce was willing to put past rala and whatever jealousy he'd felt. "y'aint so bad. don't know what i was expectin' but..." he chuckled as they continued forth. "you're smart. got a good head on your shoulders."

it was an olive branch extended, and dolce wouldn't force the man to take it. he'd be civil; it was the right thing to do, wasn't it?