Silvertip Mountain What if you're making me all that I was meant to be?

Niita nodded, focused on the task at hand. Without word, she moved to her side of the den and began to dig. It was rythmic work. Dig, move the pile outside when it was too cumbersome, keep digging.

By the time they finished, Niita was no longer white pelted but had taken on the color of the den's dirt walls. Steady seemed to have fared better but perhaps it was only his darker hue.

The white femme lay stretched out beside her husband, reaching out to lick some of the dirt from his coat. "We do," she agreed, "I think that this was worth it." What could be sleeping beside him at night? Adeline too, whom she cared for immensely.