Big Salmon Lake la vie en rose

Kitsch shrinks away almost immediately but she gives in after a beat. She doesn't know the girl that well and their exchange the last time had been limited. She still received help from her and the least West can do is try the same. Her knowledge is far more varied than Kitsch and by the looks of it, she isn't sure she cab properly take care of herself. She tries to recall their last meeting and whether or not the dusted girl has a place to call home and she doesn't think asking is going to get her too far.

Watching her try to stand puts a grimace on her face and she's torn between backing up and giving her space or standing close to use as a balance beam. West stands still until she has instruction, or cues enough from body language, and neither show up. The battered wolf hit the ground and crumples in the wet dirt.

A chill run down her spine with the terrified, shake breath: is he here? Her ears slink back to her head and Kitsch gaze bores only into hers and not around for herself so she flickers her gaze and flares her nose for signs before she firmly shakes her head. "It's just me," she says. Her mouth stays open to say or ask something else but the words are far underdeveloped and don't pass the barrier. She clicks her teeth together as her stomach twists into knots at the thought of who he might be and the damage to her scruff—punctures from sharp fangs at an angle that's all too familiar—makes acid burn in her chest.

"Let's get you out of the water and somewhere dry, okay? Then I'm going to take care of your wounds," she finally says. She pulls her voice together and acts more of a command than suggestion where she should speak with gentleness. Instead, she stands close and parallels herself with Kitsch to help move her back a few yards into the dry, sun warmed grasses.