Big Salmon Lake And the grass all smells the same

A small gulp; a soundless prayer.

She endured his merciless gaze in silence, anxiously hoping he couldn’t see right through her glass bravado. He could, of course. She was nothing but a teenager playing at adulthood, a miserable little wretch, a buoy without anchor, but he was gracious (or conniving) enough not to let on that he knew this.

Needle felt her teeth clench at his words.

I said easy for “two,” numbskull. She wanted to snap at him, her virulent tongue staved only by the sudden swing of his head, the twitch of his whiskered muzzle. The bolts of her jaw tightened further, preparing for rejection, but when he turned to her again, it was to relent.

It worked?
The girl could hardly keep surprise from lighting her features, and unbridled pride flooded through her at the perceived win. She had to force herself to restrain a wag of her tail, and she creased her brows to cement a very serious expression.

Good, she proclaimed, giving the stranger an all-business nod. Deal.

It didn’t bother her that he wanted to lead. It was half of a huge weight off her shoulders, actually. But the other half remained, reminding her that she’d actually need to perform, or else all this would’ve been for nothing.

Skittering after him, she fell neatly into his shadow, keeping enough distance to assure her own safety should he turn on her, while matching his long stride with quick and quiet steps. She kept her trap shut for now, her thoughts racing and her heart hammering in her throat.

Her first deer hunt.

And it had to go right.