Bearclaw Valley mesmeric revelation

okay. it's simple. she likes this one. he doesn't have the torrent of words that so many others do, and if she knew he did, she might well shy away. he has the sense to keep quiet, to only use speech when necessary. for that, she is grateful.

she's resigned herself to being left alone, still grateful at least for the mess being cleared, when the entrance to her den darkens once more. her lips round in a surprise 'o' at his return—rather, what his return brings. a fresh-caught fish, smelling of the creek. 

Avicus turns her gaze to his, hoping the thankfulness in her eyes outweighs her silence.

she eats, slowly, carefully, as if a bite too big might turn her stomach once more. and she is still ravenous when she's taken half of the fish, but she knows from trial and error and vomitus that she will barely manage to keep this meager portion down. instead, she pushes it toward the young man, her nose numb against the chilly flesh.

it is, perhaps, the only time she will ever willingly share food. name? she asks, a little hesitant, remembering that her father had made such an inquiry of wolves as she realizes she doesn't have his.