Bitterroot Valley you give out the glory of heaven, you give out the pain that is hell.

She had not expected the broken words that come from his rough tongue. It built a well of worry within her chest and what had been playful biting to the fur became gentle grooming. His word stung some horrible scars of her heart. Abandonment. Loss. She could not go through that with him.

Want you. Stay. Please. She had not meant to stir worry within him and she did not want to run him off. It was not possible but somehow she sought to push deeper into his side. Want. Stay. More reassurance with worry in her voice.

Grooming would cease as her ear laid against his form, waited with bated breath to hear what he might say now. Or if any words might fix whatever emotion she had cracked at from within him.