Bearclaw Valley stay close with your wounded eyes

her ears forward near immediately when his voice cuts across the wind. she cannot find it in herself to flinch or bristle tonight—too tired, or perhaps she’s grown accustomed to him now.

she doesn’t feel the need to explain herself—figures they’re having the same problem. “so are you,” she retorts, voice hoarse from a mix of disuse and dehydration. something to soon remedy.

gingerly, she departs from her den with the subtle wag of her tail when she meets him where he stands. ”couldn’t sleep?”