Bearclaw Valley round town

she tries not to fidget, doesn’t back away. just watches, like she always does, still trying to measure his tone, his nod, the way he looks at the feathers and then back at her. it’s not dismissive. not sharp like before. steadier, maybe.

her posture is made of something shy—skittish, more timid than she liked to present. at the very least, he doesn’t seem the type to hold how pathetic she is against her.

“hi,” she tips her head in greeting with the subtle wag of a half-tucked tail—she’s pleased that he seems tolerant today. less chance of fucking it up.

she nods and gestures toward the bundle with her nose, casual, almost careless. “figured i didn’t need more, n’ i felt—“ it takes her a half second to realize she’s rambling and shakes her head, “—nevermind, um, i just figured you could use ‘em for a nest,” she adds dryly, something wry curling at the edges of her mouth. “or, y’know. whatever it is you do.”