Porcupine Ridge nobody knows anything

It wasn't long before they met upon the trail.

Golden Eagle, he greeted the woman. The snow was falling in earnest at this altitude, swirling around them in the slight breeze. It landed in glimmering spangles upon his dark pelt, giving him a silvery, almost wizened appearance before her.

He nodded toward the fresh meat, brows lifted in query. What is this? he asked. Not that he didn't appreciate the gesture—if it was a gesture of some kind—but why?

Does she not think me capable of feeding myself?

The thought wound itself around his heart like thin, icy limbs, locking the core of him in sickly embrace. If he did not have her trust, what did he have?