Bearclaw Valley Accepting limits

any packmates wanna hang? :3

The rock beneath Tvar’s frame had been warmed by the fleeting touch of morning sunlight, and for a brief moment, it offered a respite from the winter chill that gnawed relentlessly at the valley. He stretched languidly, his long, muscular legs extending as he shifted to soak in as much warmth as he could.

His eyes drifted lazily over the valley below, watching as the shadows of the towering pines stretched and shifted with the rising sun. The air was crisp and still, carrying with it the faint scents of Bearclaw’s occupants as they stirred to begin their day.

Tvar exhaled softly, his breath misting in the cold air, and let his head fall back against the smooth surface of the rock.

the morning carries with it a chill that settles like a thousand tiny icicles needling beneath towhee jr's fur. a soft shiver slides along her spine as ghost takes flight from his favorite perch betwixt her shoulders; scouting recon. a glimpse is spared to him before she stretches and sets herself into motion, eager to begin patrolling.

settling in is easy for jr; easier because she's travelled most of her life. her intention hadn't been to become nomadic, flitting from pack to pack ... but it always ends up being the path she takes anyway.

perhaps she was more similar to her mother than just being her twin.

the thought brings with it a soft, affectionate smile; there and gone as quickly as it came.

ghost circles as they near a packmate, settling back upon his favored perch betwixt the junction of her shoulders. he nips at his favored ear, already notched from his persistence. jr's gaze falls upon the man, a soft, breathy chuff of greeting leaving her lips. she can't hear it, of course, but she can feel the vibration in her throat. her steps slow, leaving distance between them — ready to depart if her company is unwelcome.

Tvar shifted slightly, his tall frame turning toward the wolf approaching him. The chuff she offered was soft but deliberate, and he inclined his head, acknowledging her with the quiet steadiness he carried in all things.

She wasn’t a stranger—her scent marked her as one of the pack—but he didn’t know her name or much else beyond that.

For a moment, he studied her, his sharp blues taking in the bird perched at her shoulder and the measured way she held herself, maintaining a cautious distance. He noted the notched ear, the subtle wariness in her posture, and decided to speak.

“Good morning,” he began. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” Tvar remained still, allowing her the space she seemed to want, yet ensuring his presence wasn’t dismissive. With a swipe of his tail, he offered her a place upon the large sandstone he'd made his perch. "Tvar." He introduced.

His ears twitched, perhaps from nerves.

towhee jr is pulled once more into the stark reality that she'd gotten spoiled by living in sun mote copse where ( almost ) everyone had known ptero. it had made her life measurably easier on the communication front. having been different from everyone else her whole life she was no stranger to facing obstacles before her and outsmarting them. but there was a part of her that had fallen complacent to the ease of being able to use ptero with everyone.

she did not have that luxury here.

she offers a soft breathy noise, her own form of 'good morning' as she reads his lips. it's harder with the distance between them and she instinctively draws a little bit nearer to his stone perch so she might read more accurately.

tvar. she contemplates how she might sign his name in ptero but pushes it aside. it didn't much matter at the moment. he was waiting for her name and jr had no way of offering it. like every other interaction before, it would be up to him to decide what he was going to call her.

jr offers him a half apologetic, half sheepish smile and makes the gesture with her paws: touching her ear, her throat and her mouth and giving a shake of her head 'no' in clear body language that says i cannot hear nor speak.

The soft noise she made reached his ears, though it was faint, almost uncertain.

It wasn’t until she raised her paws, gesturing deliberately, that understanding began to dawn. The motions were clear enough—ear, throat, mouth, followed by a shake of her head—and Tvar’s brow furrowed slightly as the meaning sank in. She couldn't hear, speak.

His gaze lingered on her for a moment, not out of pity but contemplation.

Tvar gave a small nod, his expression softening just slightly. “I see,” he said, his voice low but without the frost it often carried. A smile forms.

His tail flicked lightly, and he adjusted his posture, making to pull his weight up off of the rock. “If you’re patrolling,” he added, “I’ll walk with you.”

jr reads his lips, relieved that she's communicated her disabilities well enough. her next challenge would be learning to communicate that she could read lips just fine ( as long as she was close enough to do so, of course ) but that was a worry for another day.

she reads that he mentions patrolling and she is thoughtful for a moment, her body language still. it was what she'd set out to do, originally. and patrolling built bonds, as far as jr cared to see it.

she offers him a sage nod as he rises from his rock perch and motions for him to lead the way; not a huge fan of having wolves to her back when she couldn't hear them.

Tvar watched her closely, catching the subtle nod she offered as she motioned for him to take the lead. He noted her hesitation. He respected that.

Without further comment, he began to move, his steps slow and deliberate at first to ensure she had no trouble keeping pace. The crunch of snow beneath his paws was the only sound that broke the stillness as he led them toward the border.

Every so often, he glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes flicking to her face briefly. Not out of distrust, but to make sure she was following comfortably—and perhaps to gauge her reaction to the quiet rhythm of the patrol.

“You’ve settled in well, then?” he said after a while. He didn’t look back as he spoke, but his ears angled toward her slightly, making his attention clear.

towhee is comfortable with patrolling, put at ease by the graceful shadow that ghost paints across the ground ahead, riding the invisible waves of the breeze; settling well with the bond that she believes patrolling both creates and cements. there was no bond greater than blood shed, though from her general experience most patrols were stilled and uninviting of chaos.

she catches him peering back every so often; attempting to gauge what she could see of his facial features.

she does not hear his question as he asks it, is not able to read his lips. and so towhee's remains unaware she was even asked anything at all, her pace not too quick to outpace him but not trailing behind either; contented.

Tvar glanced back again. For a moment, he studied her, the slight furrow of his brow betraying his curiosity. She hadn’t answered him, hadn’t even acknowledged the question.

His ears flicked, and something clicked. Of course—she hadn’t heard him.

Idiot.

Tvar didn’t sigh, nor did he let any frustration show. Instead, he adjusted, his movements slowing just slightly so they could walk more evenly side by side.

When he spoke again, he angled his head slightly to give her the opportunity to read his lips if she chose to look. “The border’s quiet,” he said simply, the words as much an observation as an attempt to engage her. “Haven’t seen anything out of place.”

He didn't do well with awkward silence.

towhee, blissfully unaware that her companion has seemed to have realized his mistake, only finds his furrowed brow a little out of place. she offers a small, curious bird-like tilt of her head — a habit perhaps subconsciously picked up from observing ghost's mannerisms.

she watches as he adjusts his steps and turns his face towards her so that she might read his lips. she reads that he speaks of quiet borders and that nothing appears out of place.

and while towhee could attempt to sign ptero when walking ... a) it would not be effective, probably and b) she assumes generally that he does not know how to read it. of course, things had to be learned somewhere. still, this did not feel like the time or place.

her scarred shoulder rises and falls, accented by a low chuff sort of a noise to communicate that she was unbothered by a calm patrol. in her mind, it did not have to be exciting to have been productive.