Whitefish River Unvsiyv

A journey made it sound like this was all for joy or whimsy — that any of this carried an ounce of fun to it.

Yet it had been so long he could not help but wonder if he had stalled himself somehow. If his little seeds of doubt had grown into grand oaks that blocked his path. He felt it was kinder to look beyond that instead of spewing something deprecating at her words.

It was easier to focus on her and the bird.

Soul-tied sounded like something he might have heard at home. Some way to remind people to stick together, to not stray, that this was all there was. A budding discomfort bloomed within him. Where he had just before thought her so unique, he worried he might find familiar things in her that he was not ready to see again.

I don't think I'm all that lucky. It went over his head that she may have been seeking something to call him besides lucky. Maybe he just thinks I'll be the next meal. A dry kind of humor crept through him as he watched the bird.

It wasn't a vulture, but he imagined it wasn't picky either.

Have you crossed the mountains before?