Bearclaw Valley bluegrass

Cole exhales slow, steady, his chin resting against the top of her head as she settles against his chest. Forever, he murmurs, a quiet vow, one he means with every part of him.
She is warmth against him, something good, something his. He’s never been a man of pretty words, but she knows—he makes sure she knows. The weight of his arm around her, the way his nose drags through her fur, slow and deliberate.
At her question, his lips twitch—just barely. A hunt. Building their home together, making something out of all this. It sits right with him.
Soon, he answers, voice low, thoughtful. Got to keep you fed, don’t I? A tease, but there’s truth in it. She is his, and he will provide, always.