Bitterroot Valley cauldrons

snow licked at lestan's ears, falling in gentle flakes. in the night before, he had grappled with returning to swiftcurrent till dawn, where he fell headlong into a nightmare of fire-deer and golden, whirring wings.
his heart was compelled to go back, but a new and tantalizing wanderlust had found root in lestan. he knew this lands well, and traveled them with smooth confidence, nothing akin to what he had experienced upon returning to his shame and chagrin.
quick trot cut across gathering snow, tongue lolling as he tasted the air and found it ripe with caribou.