Bearclaw Valley bakers dozen

Cole listened, quiet as always, weighing her words. She was right—meat was always a good gift, practical, something that wouldn’t go to waste. He didn’t mind the trade of herbs either, not that he had much use for ‘em himself, but he knew their value.
Could hunt some pelts, he offered, rolling the thought over. Get some bones as toys for their kids, maybe. Even if they don’t got litters now, they’ll have ‘em eventually.
He shifted his weight, scratching at the dirt with one broad paw. Maybe even some dried meat. Something easy to carry. If they need it bad enough, they’ll be grateful for it.
His gaze flicked back to her, gauging her reaction. Could throw in something else if you think it’d make a difference. You know ‘em better than I do.