Bearclaw Valley and was buried in a tomb

tvar's pacing slows to a stop, his jaw working tightly around an invisible knot. her worry cuts deeper than he expected, making his stomach churn uncomfortably. he hates this feeling—the guilt, the dread—but she deserves honesty.
he draws a breath and forces himself to meet her gaze. his ears flick backward, uncertainty visible in the subtle strain around his eyes.
when i left... i saw my brother, faust. his signs are hesitant, cautious, as if each word might break beneath their weight. he leads a pack now—darukaal, far north. norsemen. he said that it is home. our home. and ours now included towhee, and their children.
a pause stretches thin and brittle, before he continues quickly, voice low, fearing misunderstanding.
i told him—not now. but someday. when our pups are older. when they can travel.
his gaze flickers, quiet fear woven into the steel.
it is my wish for my children to know their people. their heritage. would you go?