Bearclaw Valley make the water rise

Cole considered her words with a slow nod, his gaze drifting beyond the valley’s reach as if he could already see the endless stretch of open land she spoke of. The thought of traveling—of leaving the familiarity of the valley behind, even if only for a time—stirred something in him.
Spring sounds good, he agreed, voice steady, thoughtful. Easier travel. Better game. He imagined the plains as she described them, alive with color, the air thick with the scent of new grass and rain-soaked earth. It wasn’t a bad thought.
His eyes settled on her then, softened by something unspoken. He wasn’t much for words, but he could appreciate what this meant to her. Maybe he even shared in it, more than he’d say aloud.
We’ll go, he said after a pause. When the last snow melts. And then, because he figured she’d like it, he added, It’ll be nice.