Sunset Valley Harvesting

his ear flicks at her laughter. light, teasing. she plays at games—ulfric does not remember the last he played.
"my nose does not lie. a huntsman, i told you." he remarks, while icy gaze lays content upon her. watching how carefully she lifts the plants, how her claws dig with precision, not recklessness. "but my heart?" his lip curls slightly, almost amused. you think that you know it? he asks, and he waits as she sets the plants aside, shaking off the weight of the task like it is nothing. then she is already moving, eager to get on.
ulfric exhales through his nose once. her energy is relentless.
"you rush like spring flood." a scoffing remark, but he moves, stepping past her, muzzle lifting to the air. poppies are sweeter, softer—not like the acrid sting of poison.
"this way." his paws press forward, carving a path.