Bearclaw Valley [m] everything i wanted

The sound cut through the morning haze—soft, aching. Not a cry, but a call. His name in the shape of something older than words.
Cole froze where he stood, halfway through inspecting the scent of elk tracks along the glade’s edge. The warmth of spring hadn’t yet touched his bones, not really. Not in the way her voice just did.
He was a hard man. Worn leather and grit. There were things he didn’t let himself want unless it was carved into him. But Winslet—she didn’t carve. She eased. She settled into his ribs like something that’d always been there. And now, hearing her voice, his chest ached like it was missing a piece.
Without a word, he turned.
By the time he reached the den, his paws were caked in damp earth, breath steady, jaw tight—not from anger, but from restraint. His eyes found her, curled and waiting, bathed in the scent of home and longing. That soft, honey-laced look she only gave him when she wanted something she couldn’t name.
He stepped toward her, quiet as ever. Shadow and sinew. Tired eyes but alight with something unmistakable.
Didn’t mean to keep you waitin’, he murmured, voice rough like the gravel beneath their den, I’m here now.
And without fanfare, without a second glance at the rising sun behind him, he lowered himself beside her, pressing his brow to hers. Steady. Grounded. Hers.

he's a stupid man... he hasn't smelled her yet cuz he's a bag of bones.