Bearclaw Valley With our hands over our hearts

the women turn their attention to her and her heart catches in her chest.  an inkling gnaws at the edges of her thought — these two women will be just like laurel and indra; they will have each other and the wolf with no name will be forgotten.

they speak to her, and for once she can pick out the basics of what they are trying to articulate.  hallo, she forces out, quiet and dismal, casting her gaze to the blinding snow at her feet.