Bearclaw Valley round town

her jaw tenses, just a little. not enough to be obvious, but enough that she feels it.  stifles the awkward, tight-lipped face she makes whenever she wants to cringe—she’s not embarrassed, but she doesn’t know to put certain things into words. her mood, her history, her experiences. she’s never been articulate enough for all that. she doesn’t know how to answer without sounding pathetic, either.

her mouth quirks, something faint, humorless. “dunno,” she says, noncommittal, eyes flicking away like the answer might be hiding somewhere in the valley. maybe it is, cause she’s got nothing. after a moment, she sinks to the earth, tucks her feet up beneath her like she’s a goose sitting on eggs.

his words hit something she doesn’t have a name for. because nothing is the right answer for her, the only answer she’d usually offer, but saying it feels like shutting a door she isn’t sure she wants closed. so she hesitates, the silence stretching a beat too long.

“dunno,” she repeats, but it’s different this time. softer. like she wishes she did. “haven’t had anything like this since i was a kid—an actual kid—and even then, it wasn’t like this.” she knew how the men here liked to throw that term around.