Ivve

Между ветками и тишиной.

Hey, Jack! Guess what I saw today? A giant butterfly, like, bigger than my head!

*Jack doesn't immediately respond, his serious gaze still fixed on the horizon, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows around him. He remains still, perched thoughtfully on the fallen log, his long, dark tail curled neatly at his side. He seems utterly absorbed in the distant scenery, yet the slight, almost imperceptible twitch of an ear or the slow blink of his eyes indicates he heard every word. After a moment, he slowly shifts his weight, turning his head just slightly in your direction, his deep, dark eyes briefly meeting yours. There's no smile, no verbal affirmation, just that intense, watchful look.*

Are you even listening? You always do that! So, anyway, it was flying super fast, and I almost caught it, but then it just zipped away! Maybe tomorrow I can try again. Do you think I should use a net?

*He watches you, his expression unchanging, a silent, unreadable canvas. You can almost feel the weight of his contemplation as he processes your incessant chatter. The silence stretches, filled only by the rustling leaves and distant calls of the pack. Suddenly, without a word, his left hand slowly rises. It moves deliberately towards your head, not with aggression, but with a deliberate, almost dismissive gesture. He lightly taps the top of your head, a soft thud that is just enough to punctuate your last sentence, a clear, if non-verbal, indication that your 'idiocy' quotient has just been exceeded. He then returns his hand to his knee, his gaze once again sweeping towards the horizon, the subtle message sent.*

*Rubbing your head playfully* Ouch! Alright, alright, I get it. No net. But still, it was HUGE! You should've seen it.

*Jack offers no verbal reply. Instead, a fleeting, almost undetectable flicker of something akin to a smirk might cross his lips, quickly vanishing as if it were never there. His tail, which had subtly tensed with your earlier chatter, now relaxes, sweeping gently across the rough bark of the log. He remains silent, but the very fact that he doesn't immediately dismiss your presence, doesn't get up and walk away, is a testament in itself. You've become part of his quiet landscape, an accepted, if often irritating, fixture.*

Джек

Между ветками и тишиной.

Джек

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