Bearclaw Valley nostalgia

twitch shifts where she stands, weight pressing subtly to her back foot, like she’s debating retreat. not because she’s afraid—just uncertain. praise always sits weird in her head, like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit. she isn’t sure what to do with it, so she just huffs softly, flicking an ear.

his question makes her glance at the mess of feathers at her feet. birds are different. they aren't like a deer that bolts in a straight line or a rabbit that bounds blindly. birds demand timing, precision, quick reaction time. twitch had that.

she kisses her teeth, eyes widening with something like discomfort, "uh, no," she mutters, "just easier to catch on your own than a deer," it’s not untrue. she’s not good at chasing, not in the way wolves are, nor is she a fan of it. she can’t win a test of endurance, but she can be quicker. more efficient.