Bearclaw Valley You ask me what I'm thinking about,

Cole chuckled, watching Adalynn’s little brow furrow with that spark of curiosity he’d come to expect. Well, Miss Adalynn, he drawled, the Southern twang in his voice smooth as honey, once that bone’s buried too long, the marrow goes soft and loses its bite. It isn’t fresh anymore, you see?

He glanced over at the ground, considering her concerns with an amused glint in his eye. Now, as for digging it up… well, if someone’s following their nose to an old buried bone, then they’re the fool, not you. A slow grin spreading across his face. I’ve been doing this long enough to know that anyone sniffing after another wolf's buried scraps ought not be too picky.

How long? he mused, tilting his head thoughtfully. Oh, long enough for it to be a habit. Some things you just get used to, Adalynn. Keep at it long enough, and maybe you’ll get the knack too.