Whitefish River Are we the last living souls?

She nodded at his words but remained silent, moving to lie down on the ground. He said nothing, only watching her as she moved and then shifting his gaze back to the stream. For a while he sat watching the water move by in front of them. The sound of the river was different now than it had been in the fall before the frigid temperatures had solidified parts of it. Now, he could hear it plinking against the frozen areas before moving underneath the ice. He was content to say nothing, letting her lead the conversation if she wished to do so. The quiet between them didn't feel uncomfortable, at least not on his end. His mind kept him plenty busy as it drifted from one problem to the other, occupying most of his thoughts with anxiety about his mate and whether or not they would all make it through the winter in one piece, especially considering the recent coyote infestation. Their future on the plateau seemed entirely too unsure for his comfort lately, and he had no idea what to do about it.