Firefly Glen [BWH] névoa ‹‹

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tvar’s ears tilt toward her. for a moment he only watches her, taking in the soft set of her shoulders, the careful way she offers herself without pressing, without pitying. she is built of a genuine warmth, and it is a welcome change of pace.

company is fine, tvar rumbles at last, and his tail shifts in the grass, a small sweep. you seem… peaceful.

his gaze lingers on the, now, half-eaten marmot she’d laid down, then on the space falcon disappeared from. he exhales through his nose, a slow and warm sound. he didn’t mean to speak out of turn. he’s a good boy. just… tvar’s jaw works once, searching for a word, settling on, blunt. too blunt, sometimes.

there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes then. and he shifts, lowering himself into a seated crouch closer to her, but still cautious not to crowd, careful not to look like he’s assuming her invitation meant more than it did.

we don’t meet many who speak gently, he says quietly, glancing toward her again. it’s… a welcome change.

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