Bearclaw Valley (pause) it died in babylon

her question makes him pause, a frown ghosting over his features before he shakes his head, firm.

never. his paws move with surety, brisk motions filled with passion. not to me. not to bearclaw. it is an absurd question! tvar finds himself suddenly huffy, eyes searching the strong features of his wife’s dark mask. has someone said something to you?

if someone had… anger darkens the doorstep of his colored eyes and he steps forward to towhee to calm himself. brushing his nose against her cheek, only pulling away enough to sign again. you may look like her and be named after her, he buffers briefly while looking for the mannerisms to finish his sentence, but you are not her. you can’t compare yourself.

a thick neck leans down so that he may nudge affectionately at her belly, that slowly swells with life. she was a safe, warm home for their pups; she was not supposed to do as she used to! but try telling her that, he supposed. he peers over his wife’s shoulder with an encouraging grin.

and maybe you carry more than one. tvar’s heart flutters at the idea. a large family with her. part of him was nervous—beyond nervous—but another part feels he was meant for this. his family had always had endless amounts of children—he and his wife deserved a strong, cemented legacy.