Bearclaw Valley pickin' me a bouquet of dogwood flowers

There was something new in her eyes—or perhaps he’d just never taken notice to it before. It wasn’t bad but it did make his stomach twist, suddenly nervous; he didn’t know from where the feeling stemmed, nor how he might ease the growing tensions within his body. But then she spoke—he was getting used to her voice, almost craving it—and everything seemed to click into place, even if, consciously, he was unaware of it. Tentatively, his tail started to sway and he could feel the corners of his lips pulling upwards. It didn’t make sense to him, not perfectly, but he felt a response brewing within the depths of his conscience long before he mimicked her: “Us.”

Should she allow it, Alexander would proceed forward to press his muzzle against her neck. “Mine,” he declared, pulling away just long enough to search for her gaze. She was his friend—she had been his friend. He couldn’t ignore how he felt more for her, how her presence alone excited him, and how he felt he could trust her with anything. He wanted her all to himself, to protect and care for—to love and cherish.