Big Salmon Lake And the grass all smells the same

The cat who ate the canary. Now, it was her turn to smirk.

But the gratification didn’t last long.

Gosling.

Needle frowned at the word. Was it an insult? Was it praise? It sounded small – soft – yet she couldn’t be sure what it meant. She turned her nose up at it. He was mocking her, surely. And still, her glimmer of frustration could not quell the sudden flutter in her breast.

She was reminded of a time when she felt warmed by the sweet names her Mama and Mami called her; a time when she had longed to be pretty and loved…

It all felt so distant and childish to her now.

Her ears flicked forward as the wolf moved, and her claws massaged the earth as she prepared to fly at a moments notice. She watched the water drip from his chin, the ripple of his muscles. Again and again, her eyes danced across his scar. Nowhere, huh? Sight-seeing. Sure.

Ignoring his dismissal, she fixed him with a thoughtful narrowing of her skeptical gaze. Well, since you aren’t doin’ anything, you should make yourself useful. There’s a deer herd around this lake. They have fawns. She had watched Old Hound and his band chase them once, many moons back, when the babies had been much smaller. Those same fawns were likely clocking in around 50 or 60 pounds by this time of year.

I hunted them before. It’s an easy job for two. A lie to encourage him that it wouldn’t be a waste of time. Oh, she could hunt. Rabbits hardly stood a chance once she set her sights on them – but she’d never successfully hunted anything larger than that. Hence, the skin-and-bones look she was modeling.

She needed him, clearly, but it was best to make the deal seem mutually beneficial. If such a thing were even possible.