Firefly Glen [BWH] névoa ‹‹

tvar watches that small shift in her body, the easing of her shoulders, the way her scent warms with it. something in him answers instinctively, a loosening he doesn’t let many see. he is a man shaped by hard edges and harder seasons, but her presence cuts through like a soft thaw.

blunt is all he’s ever known, tvar admits with a gravelly husk, all I ever taught him, i suppose. the world isn’t kind. better he meets it with his chin up.

his gaze follows hers toward the place falcon vanished. he’s learning. faster than I expect, most days.

then her words about her mãe reach him — soft words carry far — and a short huff leaves him, not quite a laugh but close.

my mate didn’t speak soft, he says, eyes narrowing slightly in memory, tone fond despite its gravel. she did not speak at all. tvar gestures to his mouth, then his ears, she was deaf, and mute. so she led with her teeth. a real strong woman.

a beat.

falk got that from her.