Whitefish River Red Bull and minivans

Once he sees Winterbourne approaching, Evergreen ducks back in. His blind side pressing against a mixture of tree roots and dirt. The majority of the trunk resting stable above, compacted with the cushion of clay and earth. He tries to focus on anything but the brush of fur as Winterbourne enters; tries to make it not noticeable how a small shiver courses up his spine, or how he holds his breath. He’s been close to people, hell, has cuddled with quite a few recently, but it doesn’t seem to calm the affect this has on him.

Lingering in reach, the bear exhales—heart thumping in a fast rhythm, almost pounding in his ears. Embarrassing if Winterbourne is able to tell. But he pretends like nothing is happening, and instead, stretches out. While the silver man remains hesitant to settle, Eve makes himself at home. Massive paws sticking out of the entrance just a tad. “Comfy?” He asks, glancing towards his company.