Bearclaw Valley stay close with your wounded eyes

@Cole

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twitch lay on her side, eyes open, staring at nothing. the den was quiet, save for her own slow, steady breathing. exhaustion gnawed at her, but sleep wouldn't come, stuck just out of reach like a name on the tip of her tongue.

her ears twitched at the smallest of sounds—the distant hoot of an owl, the wind pressing against the valley like a restless spirit. twitch exhaled slowly, careful not to make a sound. after what felt like an eternity of staring into the dark, she gave up.

pushing herself upright, she winced at the stiffness in her back but ignored it as she stepped to the mouth of her burrow. the air outside was crisp, biting at her fur, but she welcomed it. at least out here, she could breathe. she tilted her head back, gaze tracing the stars scattered across the sky.

Cole had never been one for lingering in places that felt too still. The valley had a way of quieting at night that made his bones ache, made him remember things he’d rather forget.
So when he saw movement by the burrow, the pale flicker of Twitch stepping into the cold, he slowed his approach.
You’re up late, he rumbled, voice low, edged with that familiar gravel of someone who’s seen too much, done too much. He stopped a few paces away, gaze tracking her as she looked at the sky.
Didn’t ask why she was up. Didn’t need to. Some things didn’t have to be said.

her ears forward near immediately when his voice cuts across the wind. she cannot find it in herself to flinch or bristle tonight—too tired, or perhaps she’s grown accustomed to him now.

she doesn’t feel the need to explain herself—figures they’re having the same problem. “so are you,” she retorts, voice hoarse from a mix of disuse and dehydration. something to soon remedy.

gingerly, she departs from her den with the subtle wag of her tail when she meets him where he stands. ”couldn’t sleep?”

Cole huffed softly, the ghost of a chuckle lost in the cold night air.
Don't ever sleep much anymore, he admitted, eyes tracing the stars like they held something worth remembering. They didn’t.
His gaze drifted back to her, taking in the quiet exhaustion in her stance, the way she moved like someone who carried too much weight for too long. He understood that.
Figured I’d take a walk, he added after a beat, rolling a stiff shoulder. Better than staring at the damn ceiling.
There was no expectation in his tone, no pressing need to fill the silence. If she wanted to talk, he’d listen. If not, they could stand here in the stillness, sharing the same sleepless night.

twitch let his words settle between them, watching the way his eyes flicked between the sky and her, like he was searching for something in both. she didn’t press.

“mm,” she hummed, noncommittal, shifting her weight from one paw to the other. “me either.” for very different reasons, she assumed. she wasn’t sure why she'd even come out, why she lingered instead of retreating into the comfort of solitude. maybe it was because cole wasn’t asking for anything or trying to fix anything. just existing, the same way she was.

after a pause, she jerked her head toward the dark stretch of land beyond them, a silent invitation. c'mon, then. whether he took the offer or not, she was already moving, slow but steady.

Cole watches her for a beat, the quiet between them as familiar as breath. There is no need to fill it, no need to make sense of why they are both here instead of tucked away in the dark.
When she moves, he follows without hesitation, his steps slow to match hers. The night stretches endless above them, cold and vast, but it does not feel empty.
You always out here wandering? His voice is low, a murmur against the hush of the wind. It is not prying, just curiosity. Not much else to do when sleep does not come easy.

"what, you got any better ideas?" a soft attempt at lighthearted humor. she kicking at a stray pebble as they walked. it skittered forward, swallowed by the dark. her ears flicked, catching the distant rustle of leaves, the whisper of the wind threading through the valley.

her eyes flicked up to him, hazel irises merely watching as the mountainous man joined her side. "not much else t'do." not this late, anyway.

Cole shrugged, a slow, lazy roll of his shoulders. Guess you're right, he muttered, his voice low, rough like gravel.
His gaze followed the pebble as it bounced and disappeared into the dark, swallowed up like everything else in the dead of night. Nothing but wind and silence stretched ahead of them, the valley breathing in slow, steady exhales.
Cole hummed, a quiet sound, thoughtful. Nope, he agreed, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. Ain't much of a night for sleep, either.
His pace was slow but steady, content to walk without a real destination. Just existing, side by side, in the quiet.

the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. just there, stretching between them like an old, familiar thing. she didn’t mind it. better this than forced conversation, than someone trying to talk her into sleep like it was a choice she just wasn’t making.

ain't much of a night for sleep, either.

after a moment, she tilted her head, eyes flicking toward him again. “why's that?”

Cole huffed, shaking his head. All these litters, he muttered, eyes scanning the dark horizon. Everywhere you turn, there’s another one. Keeps the men close to the dens.
He exhaled sharply, kicking at a stray rock. He didn’t say it, but Twitch might have guessed—he wasn’t much for being tied down. Not like that. Not in the way these men were, waiting on pups to grow, making themselves soft.
Reckon I’ll keep busy. That was all he said on it. His tone was even, but there was something else beneath it. Something Twitch could probably hear if she listened hard enough.

twitch listened, gaze lingering on him for a fraction longer than necessary before flicking back to the path ahead. she understood, in her own way. “not your thing,” she said, more statement than question.

she didn’t blame him. not everyone wanted to be tethered to a family, didn't want to go domestic. she’d never wanted it either, not really. but there was something else there, something that made her wonder if it was more than just preference. more than just frustration.

she didn’t press, didn’t ask what he wasn’t saying. didn't want to know. instead, she agreed. “not mine either.” she muttered after a moment, her tail flicking absently. “the waiting. the idle. better things to be doing.”

Cole let out a rough chuckle, shaking his head. Yeah, well, seems like nobody else thinks that way. His tone was light, but there was something edged beneath it—something tired.
His eyes lingered on the stretch of land ahead, the moonlight cutting silver through the valley. It was quiet, the kind of quiet he liked. No yapping pups, no overworked mothers fussing, no obligations pulling at his heels. Just the cold night air and the sound of their paws crunching against the earth.
He glanced at her, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. Wait are you— He lifted a brow, keeping pace beside her. Y'ain't even old 'nough to have kids, are 'ya?

twitch shot him a flat, unimpressed look, ears angling back just slightly. for a moment, she didn’t answer, just let the silence stretch between them, letting him sit in his own dumbassery. slowly, she exhaled through her nose, fighting to school the stupid downturned smile creeping onto her face.

her tongue darts to lick her teeth. “cole,” she began, “i'm not that young.” a beat, then, deadpan, “probably.”

she let the words settle, watching the realization creep across his face before she finally let the chuckle slip—hearty, smooth. lulling even to herself. “do you all think i’m some stray yearling, or is that just you and tvar?” she tsked, shaking her head.

Cole huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he cast her a sidelong glance. Ain’t just me, kid, he drawled, voice dry with amusement. But if you gotta convince people you ain’t that young, well— He gave her a pointed look, smirking as he let the rest go unsaid.
He walked a few paces in silence, letting the cold air bite at his nose before he continued. Ain’t an insult, he admitted, rolling a shoulder. Just how you are. Got that young, restless thing about you. His gaze flickered over her, taking her in like he was measuring his own words. Reckless, too.
There was no heat to it, just observation. Maybe even a little bit of begrudging respect.
Cole shook his head again, smirking to himself. But hell, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you are ancient. Would explain the attitude.

twitch scoffed, shaking her head. “yeah okay, fuck you too grandpa,” she muttered, but there was no real bite to it. if anything, she was more amused than annoyed—at least a little. 

restless, sure. she could give him that much. always had been. she’d spent too many nights pacing, too many days clawing for something to do, something to burn through the energy coiled tight in her chest. but reckless? her ear twitched, and she shot him a sharp look. “alright, hey, woah, i am not. what have i done that’s reckless?” 

she didn’t bother hiding the smirk that tugged at the corner of her mouth, something sharp and knowing. “you’re lucky i’m old enough to have restraint. then i’d be reckless.”

Cole let out a low chuckle, deep and gravelly. Yeah, yeah, keep tellin’ yourself that, he drawled, shaking his head. He glanced over at her, amusement flickering in his sharp, knowing gaze.
He let the silence stretch for a beat, like he was considering her challenge. Then, he scoffed. Ain’t gotta do somethin’ outright stupid to be reckless, he pointed out. It’s the way you move. The way you think. His eyes flicked over her, assessing, before he gave a slow shake of his head. You run on impulse, Twitch. You ever even think about where you’re headed before you start runnin’?
There was no real bite to it—just the kind of dry, knowing humor that only came from a man who’d seen too much and had the scars to prove it.
Shit, he muttered, huffing through his nose, maybe I should be the one worryin’ if you’re old enough.

twitch let out a sharp breath, something between a scoff and a laugh. there was no real malice there—just that same dry amusement, tempered by something almost thoughtful.

he wasn’t wrong. not really. she didn’t always think before she moved, didn’t always have a plan before she threw herself into something headfirst. but planning meant hesitation, and hesitation got people killed. she’d learned that a long time ago. "loosely. i'm usually more worried about what i'm running from." a valid concern, no?

she tilted her head, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “you'd probably be an improvement from the last one, if you ask me.” she remarked with the dismissive roll of her shoulders. “i wouldn't lose sleep over it.”

Cole huffed out a short laugh, shaking his head. That’s not exactly reassuring. His voice carried the weight of dry amusement, laced with something gruffer beneath it. He wasn’t the type to lecture—wasn’t his business how she lived her life—but he’d seen enough reckless souls end up dead to know that her kind had a habit of burning out before they ever had the chance to slow down.
He cast her a sidelong glance, measuring. You run from a lot, huh?: The words weren’t prying, just an observation. Maybe she was like him—always moving, always looking for something to chase or something to leave behind.
His shoulders rolled as he exhaled. Well, if I’m gonna be an improvement, I might as well do the job right. He paused for a beat, then added with a smirk, Not that I’m losin’ sleep over it, either.

something unreadable passed behind tired eyes before she looked ahead again. “yeah, well,” she muttered, exhaling slow, “not much point in stickin’ around when stayin’ would be worse.”

she left it at that, because she wasn’t about to crack herself open just because cole had a decent pair of eyes on him. she figured he already knew that, anyway.

instead, she let out a rough, amused scoff, flicking her tail. “you sure? ‘cause you sound real invested,” she teased, “could’ve just kept walkin’. yet here you are, adopting strays.”

Cole chuckled, low and gravelly, shaking his head. Ain’t much of a stray if you’re keepin’ up. His gaze flickered toward her, unreadable in its own way, but there was something knowing in it.
He didn’t push. Didn’t press on the weight behind her words, though he heard it clear as day. He’d known plenty who ran—some with good reason, some just chasing their own tails. Either way, he wasn’t about to pry open something she didn’t want to spill.
Instead, he let his shoulders roll in an easy shrug. Guess I just got a habit of watchin’ where I step. His mouth quirked, a smirk in the corner of his lips. Or maybe I just don’t like leavin’ things out in the cold. A pause.

twitch glanced at him, something skeptical in the cut of her gaze, but she didn’t call him on it. just let the words settle, rolling them over in her head like a stone trapped between her paw and the earth.

“hm,” she hummed, noncommittal. maybe it was the exhaustion, the way the cold settled into her bones tonight, but she didn’t bristle at the sentiment like she might’ve before.

instead, she just huffed, flicking an ear. “careful, cole, you're gonna ruin the mysterious vibe you got goin',” she muttered, smirking despite herself. “almost sound like you give a shit.”

Cole gave a short shrug, the barest twitch of one scarred shoulder as he kept his eyes forward, steady on the path. His breath curled in the cold like smoke, but his voice was steady, quiet in that way it always was—measured, worn down smooth.
Mysterious? he echoed, a touch dry. Don’t think so.
He paused, the corner of his mouth tugging upward, not quite a smile, but something close. A knowing look in her direction.
Wouldn’t be much good to you if I didn’t give a shit.

twitch snorted, shaking her head. “bold of you to assume you’re any good to me at all,” she shot back, but her voice lacked real bite.

but she didn’t argue the point, didn’t pick apart what he meant by it. maybe because she was too tired, or maybe because some part of her—some quiet, stubborn part she refused to acknowledge—didn’t hate the thought. no, probably just too tired.

so instead, she just let the silence stretch again, comfortable, easy. after a beat, she exhaled. “guess it’s a good thing you’re not the type to quit, then. g'night, cole.”

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