Bearclaw Valley in june 323 BCE

tvar is not far. he rarely is these days. always watching, always close; the weight of responsibility—of fatherhood—has settled heavy on his shoulders, and the closer the day comes, the more eager he has become.

so he is quick to hear the waddle of his wife. rounded, bearish ears flick forward, and he moves to meet her, hurriedly shortening the distance in a few long strides. searching her face with both concern and realization, before a fire is visibly lit under his ass.

it’s time? a blow of breath and then instinct kick in, pushing aside any hesitation. he steps in beside her, offering his strength, ready to guide her back to the den. finding her shoulder and side with his own, setting stare ahead of them. you should be in the den, tj! his words come out in a whispered rush, the worry warting of a soon-to-be father.