Big Salmon Lake la vie en rose

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Kitsch takes the orders easily, reaching for and chewing the plant until it’s gone and, only after it has reach her stomach, inquiries about what it is. She stares down at what she’d brought, thinking about it. The name is nowhere to be found in her memory and she brushes it off with a shrug, which doesn’t seem to last long as the girl eventually announces her fear. West’s lips purse together as she sits down, close enough so they are fur to fur in some places, and lowers her head to put gentle kisses between her eyes.

“It is okay. You will feel better soon,” she explains. Perhaps she can get the girl to take it several days in a row and loosen some of her anxiety and fear—but not enough that is enmoldable—and give her a little reprieve from danger. It is not enough to make her stay asleep—lest she be exhausted from the day—but either way West eventually picks back up when she has fallen lax enough to go out and find the other things she needs to treat her wounds.