Lost Creek Hollow Those Who Wander

no worries! didn’t see a thing

Every word in that reply drips with sarcasm, riiight until the confession of misery, and even that pours out in a defeated sigh. And for extra confirmation, judgment is laced through every word of the question. It rolls off Dakota’s shoulders like rain on a duck, and he responds first with a shrug.

“No point fighting it, is there?” The question is punctuated by a head tilt, as if he’s been asked if he wants a treat. Which he does, in a sense. Stranger already talked first, didn’t they? Least Dakota can do is invite his company to take a load off. “Don’t need an extra storm inside your head. Besides,” he adds, bouncing his forelimbs down in a play bow, “it’s nice in here.”

A head tilt in the opposite direction ends with a nose swing up to the branches above, from which all the birds have long since vacated. That leaves the ground—dens, maybe, or those ever-flowing streams. “Howsabout a little chase?” Dakota asks, deliberately leaving the chase-ee vague; he’s happy to volunteer himself. “Live a little.” Wink wink, nudge nudge.