Firefly Glen [BWH] névoa ‹‹

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much to tvar's surprise, the two of them find themselves stumbling upon a gathering of such. wolves of all walks of life, a cataclysmic clashing of differing scents. tvar's eyes wander across the glen, roving from group to group, watching as interactions unfold.

falcon, too, looks around. wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, if tvar had ever seen it. the adolescent trots several paces ahead of his father, and tvar grumbles from amusement, watching as his son admires such a showcase of life and hospitality.

its been some time since tvar had witnessed one of these gatherings. still, he is less impressed than his son. tvar is content to let falcon roam, though never more than a few fox lengths away.

he follows his son to the side of a woman, who perks up almost immediately. greeting them in a strange, foreign tongue; tvar watches her quietly, while falcon seems to beam with awe.

hello. the father rumbles warmly, leaning his large head down to drop the half-eaten rabbit between two stone paws. i am tvar. this is my son, falcon.

falcon looks quietly to the marmot offered, then over his shoulder, pale face sheepish as if to ask tvar for permission. tvar laughs, tail sweeping as he lowers himself to his haunches and gestures with a jerk of his head for his son to take magui up on her offer.

thank you, ma'am. falcon says, while quickly signing, and then sniffs happily around the marmot. what is this?

tvar is silent as his son interacts with the woman, not wishing to interrupt. it has been rare, coming across others. especially not such a large group. nor friendly faces.

tvar wishes falcon had grown to know the kinship of bearclaw valley.

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