Bearclaw Valley stay close with your wounded eyes

Cole had never been one for lingering in places that felt too still. The valley had a way of quieting at night that made his bones ache, made him remember things he’d rather forget.
So when he saw movement by the burrow, the pale flicker of Twitch stepping into the cold, he slowed his approach.
You’re up late, he rumbled, voice low, edged with that familiar gravel of someone who’s seen too much, done too much. He stopped a few paces away, gaze tracking her as she looked at the sky.
Didn’t ask why she was up. Didn’t need to. Some things didn’t have to be said.