Bearclaw Valley needlework and seedlings,

open to all bearclaw wolves !! rala needs some friends <3

huntress's paws carried her along the borders, sighting the lands that lay beyond the claim of ancelin and ameline. taking in the scents, viewing what there was to view. marking every so often - digging and scratching and rubbing until her scent, the scent of a newly promised bearclaw wolf, was distinct upon the trees, the stones, the grass.

most of the day was spent marking, proving her loyalty via an exclamation that said: i am here, i am bearclaw. then, when the sun began to rest its' golden head, snowwoman drew herself inwards, towards her make-shift den. fresher, higher-quality materials would have to be scavenged, sometime. and, perhaps she could indulge the dens of other packmates. an idea she would hold on to, compartmentalise in the back of her mind.

for now, nanuralaaq headed towards the more communal zone of the valley, seeking a friendly face. someone to hold a conversation with, she hoped.

grabs my things and sprints

his patrol had brought him close to the communal areas. large steps slow as molasses as he moved. the day's exertion began to settle into his muscles. the golden light of the resting sun bathed the valley in a soft glow, the cold air biting at his nose.

when the woman came into view, the claw man let out a low chuff fall from agape jaws, eyes of blue-green searching her. tvar steps forward from the shadows of a nearby tree, careful to not spook her.

he'd heard of the newcomer, but was yet to meet her. he'd smelled her scent markers from a mile out. so already, tvar respected her.

“you’ve been busy,” he smiles. "i'm tvar." at least with rala about, he wasn't the new guy anymore.

the way i started giggling when i saw the last post: tvar ... i need to be put down

ah, and here was one! he arrived on black paws, a reversal of her own, with an almost blue pelt that shone with blonds and a faint, light amberesque colour. her dawn hues met ones verdant, like emeralds, shining when hit with the golden light filtering through the valley. everything the sun touched found itself cast with a soft, warm glow. comfortable.

a smile found its way upon her maw. hello, tvar, she mused, brows raising as the name rolled of her dark, red tongue. something about him seemed almost ... familiar. as if she had seen a remnant of this man somewhere before. but she pushed the déjà vu aside and instead focused on her packmate, the second - if ancelin did not count - friend she had yet to make. i am rala, snowwoman would spare the bearclaw valley wolves of her given name, now, although part of her ached in doing so. shedding a layer of her identity.

you smell me coming home? her tone was playful, a tilt of her head given to the man, eyes assessing his figure, shamelessly. her star drifted upon a large, formidable body ; its' well-kept muscles. there was nothing wanton, nor carnal about the way she gazed. her surveying spoke of both predator and prey, but which was she? and no less, which was he? ever curious, though she would allow his words to come next. innocent smile.

her playful question earned the faintest twitch of his brow, tongue coming to drag across his maw. he could taste remnants of earlier’s meal, and found his belly soon to begin growling. “couldn’t miss it,” his head inclined as he spoke, eyes of amusement regarding the pale woman gently. “you’ve beat me at my own game.”

tvar hoists himself up from where he had briefly taken a seat, coming to stand closer to the woman. to inhale her scent and commit it to memory, he reaches his snout closer to her, finding the fluff of her cheek and nape. embedding his nose there in a friendly manner, having paused beforehand as if to ask permission.

she smells sweet, and almost comforting. tvar’s ears twitch as he pulls his head away. “well met, rala. welcome to the valley.” he offers her the faintest curtsy of his head, extending his humble welcomes. it was good to have another face around, one no less proactive and committed to contributing to the pack.

another wolf to chat with. tvar didn’t often pester ameline, and had yet to converse at all with their rex, ancelin. he stuck mostly around cole, and he was sure the cowboy was growing tired of his constant presence. as for the mute wolf, she wasn’t much in the way of chatting. good for patrolling company, though.

might have to work harder, piqsiq' nuvu', snowwoman grinned, eyes sparkling with a youthful mischief. one would think that she would be a walking storm cloud herself, filled with sorrow, with regrets and pain from the manner in which she had been raised, but rather, she was quite the opposite. joyful, almost whimsical, though no less grounded. no less serious. however, she wished to enjoy this moment.

when he gave a slight pause, she would nod her head, allowing her neck to be exposed to the man. trust had to be built, should they be living within the same valley, and so she would allow the man to memorise her ox-filled scent, sweet in her way. the way tvar seemed to put her scent to memory, however, reminded her of a man who had done such a similar thing - @Faust, his name was. dark, intimidating, predatory, and yet he had dubbed her 'star girl', and seemed friendly enough. he pulled his head away, then.

the thought of the dark man was fleeting just as quickly.

thank you, polar-cub smiled, offering a flick of her tail and a step forwards as she studied hazel hues. head moved side to side, slow, graceful in the same way that one would move while underwater. one could believe her to be a temptress in the way she moved, should her eyes not shine so brightly with a genuine curiosity. your time here has been good thus far, i hope? many friends for a man such as yourself?

a slight tease carried those last words, as if admitting his attractiveness.

he watched her closely. the vibrance in her eyes, the joy not lost on him. with the movements of a lumbering bear, he rumbles as she steps closer to him, the twitch of his tail betraying his receptiveness. we’ll see. he responds, chin lifting to raise his eyes as he looks down a scarred snout at her.

a warrior’s habit.

friends. he wasn’t sure he’d describe himself as the kind of man who gathered those easily. “time’s been… steady,” he replies, thoughtfulness encompassing a handsome, dark mug. his ears swivel, a reminder of continued attention to what was around.

recalling what cole told him upon his joining, he recites it to rala. “bearclaw’s good land. good people.” his gaze lingers upon her face. everything about the woman is soft, save for suppose the paws she stood upon. remnants of a hunter’s muscle that coiled her plush form. a beautiful face. tvar can’t help but notice it. he is only a man.

“don’t know about friends, though.” he added after a pause, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, “aye, takes more than a few weeks to build those.”

for him.

he draws himself forwards, passing the smaller woman, offering the subtle jerk of his head as he glances over a large shoulder. i’ll walk ya home, lass, talk on the way. ‘ts getting late.

and his scars did not go unnoticed. such an attribute only developed her perception of the man, a standard of beauty, a personal taste that she held close to her chest. rala did not bear any obvious scars of her own, aside from the thin ones below her furs ; she was somewhat envious of those who had been marked by their tales.

listening, now, with a perk of pale ears that swivelled forwards to listen, her eyes remained locked upon his own as he spoke. a true keeper of eye-contact, not one to look away. the sun, slowly, continued its' descent, and so his eyes gradually lost the emerald glow, eventually returning to what she assumed to be their usual hazel state.

'don't know about friends'?, snowwoman echoed, humming after he spoke of friendships taking more than a few weeks to build. curiously, she said: that is how long you have been here for? few weeks? a judgeless tone, no accusation nor disbelief, simply wishing to further understand her packmates. the man that would be sleeping only a few ways away from her. she wanted to be confident that he would not kill her in the night - and so far, he seemed alright. stable, at the very least. simply, a man.

whether or not her questions brought answers, she would stand to guide the man. together, they would travel to the densite, although the hollow she had dug for herself may be further away from that of tvar's. wondering, with a sort of vagueness, where he would place his den, how he would decorate it, or keep it warm this winter.

such an angutiup angutinga, polar-cub teased, taking an obvious pleasure in the fact that he could not understand nor translate her arctic words. should he allow the touch, she would flick her tail towards his rump, although keeping her head down, only giving him a sidelong glance. humming, then, she said: you find any pretty woman in the valley? around, maybe? perhaps she could seek one out, herself. a smile.

he didn’t shy from her, nor her poking and prodding stare. let her look. whatever she thought she saw, he wouldn’t hide. if anything, he would make himself more obvious for her. lifting his head, tilting his chin back, showcasing the strong ring of plush fur about his neck. it sat heavily upon thick shoulders, like a crown.

aye, a few weeks. his voice is gruff as he confirms, voice thick with the north; as hers, though his was surely a starkly different type of north. she spoke a language he did not know, though reminded him distinctly of the one his brother, @Faust, spoke. not the same, though. and faust, unlike tvar and their other pureblood siblings, was a bastard. born of elsewhere. darkly coated, like their father; the darkest of their siblings, aside from daeryn. though they shared that same gold sheen, perhaps what bonded them so closely. brothers of the same sire, of the same blood. now, his brows furrow as he thinks of his brother.

of the home tvar lost. and then of the home before, the mountains from which their father ruled. the home tvar had known first. the home faust had never known.

his attention turns back to rala. the corner of his lips tug in a restrained smirk. playful, he thought, though he didn’t acknowledge it aloud. her question brought a low huff from his chest, his expression flattening. nay, no one's caught my eye. he speaks as they continue onwards, placing one hefty black paw after the other, strides as equally low as his head between muscular shoulders. but i haven't been looking, neither. still not over the woman i was betrothed to. the thought of @Gjalla, the mere idea of her, is like a knife in the heart. he shakes her off.

he glanced at her sidelong, catching her smile. you're askin' for a reason, lass. what about you? got an eye on 'nyone?

few weeks, he confirmed, and so she chuckled, thinking that it might be nice to have the spotlight, the title of 'new guy' lifted from his shoulders. it was a weight that she could manage, and she thought that, had she not arrived, the burly man across from her could easily do the same. strong, a likely valued packmate. tvar, the piqsiq' nuvu'.

and he declined her question, then, saying that no one had caught his eye. for a moment, she found herself disbelieving of such a thing, but then she realised that there did not seem to be many women of age within the pack, at least, not of his age, that were without mates. the females had a median age of two, she knew. this man seemed to be about four, with the way he carried himself with experience, a year older than she.

i ask out of mere curiosity, snowwoman hummed, tilting her head with a smile, eyes remaining on the ground as she walked. within the darkness, she was careful to mind her step. but then, giving a stretch of her neck, she craned her head upwards, heaving a sigh before releasing it in the form of words: although, i search for compatibility in most men - those big and scarred in particular, a warm chuckle, then. clear implications.

then, with a moment of silence in which she processed thoughts, she would add on: i am woman of tradition - i seek to rear children so i may pass down my lineage, and, though she would not admit it, she had always had quite the soft spot for puppies. adorable little things, though she believed it more noble to phrase her want in such a manner that honours her predecessors, her parents. not to, ha, overshare.

and not to prod, either, rala started. but do you seek whelps of your own?

tvar’s steps slowed slightly as her words unfolded; eyes not faltering as he looked upon her. he wasn’t the kind to react outwardly and yet her candidness struck a chord. rala did not seem to mince words. he felt her implications were... bold. the man couldn't tell if she were insinuating something, or if she were simply blunt with her words. his ears swivel backwards, then frontwards again, a laugh upon the lips.

he found it refreshing—most wolves danced around their intentions, careful to keep themselves guarded. rala, on the other hand, wore her thoughts plainly. even if he wasn’t sure how to answer her, his silence a nonjudgmental muffle.

“aye, i don't think much about the future. pups, mates. all of it.” he shrugged, his broad shoulders rolling as he glanced back ahead. “but i suppose if the right woman came along...” his voice trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished, open-ended. he looked back to her then, hazel eyes falling on her soft face.

course i never thought i'd be the one choosing who i'd marry. betrothal comes with the territory; being heir to a throne. he mumbles, as if ashamed to admit he had ever once been such a thing. he can't hide the bashful twitch of his tail, which lost it's confidence and came to wag about his haunches. i wouldn't know what to look for in a wife. he laughs.

and that was where their thoughts, their wishes for the future, diverged from one another. tvar claimed to not think of the future, not of pups, nor mates, and perhaps rala truly was simply a girl, a woman who thought too often of what may soon be her stomach, swollen with life, and the man that may be alongside her when it came time for her children to be introduced to the world ; one not nearly as cruel as the one that she had been born into.

if the right woman came along, he said, then. and snowwoman took notice as to how his hazel gaze seemed to linger upon her features for a moment. skin, for a moment, felt a rush of blood come to her cheeks, warming the pinkness beneath her fur, circulating within her body. she thought back, then, to the men she had met. to those in which she had found handsome, her thoughts lingering on the first she had met...

she did not mean to lead this man astray, merely unabashed, unashamed when it came to what left her mouth. but he continued, then, and she would listen in silence, until his words came to a halt. snow-cub would reply: i was once, ah, an heir, snow-pelt woman. betrothed to crow-feather man. a few days before she had left, the title had then been bestowed upon her younger brother, and a younger crow-feather lass.

betrothed, as you say. after ... she made a face, then, her brows drawing together, as if she could not quite word what she wanted to say. as if it was the sentence itself that refuses to leave her maw, stuck like burrs upon a thick, matted pelt. ah, well, betrothed to make peace between two packs - togetherness, after ... a difficult time.

humming, then, she commented: a wife who shares your beliefs, eh, your hobbies? one that makes you happy. good conversation, good heart. and, obviously, one you think is pretty, an airy chuckle left her dark lips. her tail swayed behind her as they walked towards the dens. the sky was darkening quickly, now.

tvar’s ears flicked as he listened, intent that she know he did listen. that he paid all the mind to her as they went on their walk. him following at her flank, gazing quietly upon her face. her words ebbed and flowed like a stream struggling to find its course. she spoke of being an heir, of a life that seemed to weigh heavy. he didn’t pry—her story was hers to tell. he was grateful for anything she might bestow him.

his sharp hazel eyes drifted toward her for a moment, his expression unreadable as he mulled over her words. it wasn’t a foreign concept to him—alliances forged through unions, the way kingdoms and packs often sought stability through shared bloodlines. it was practical, even if it didn’t always leave room for personal desires.

her comment pulls a soft huff from his barrel chest, the closest thing to a laugh he was capable of. “a wife with good conversation, good heart, and all the rest,” he tells her. “sounds like a fairytale.” his words are not dismissive, but the idea amused him. such a thing seemed impossible for him. once, he had thought he had such. but she had left. and thus, here he was. alone. his gaze shifts forward again, away from rala, watching the horizon as the sky darkened. the light waning reminded him of the winters in winterhelm, the long nights stretching endlessly.

“aye, let me ask you, rala. what kind of man do you see beside you, then? what does your fairytale look like?”