Bitterroot Valley smother the sun

For some time, the valley had become a regular haunt for the river hunter.

He hardly left the water's edge, fishing and eating and sleeping in a routine that numbed his mind as much as it did lull him into a false sense of security. For to leave the last place he had seen Tariurmiutaq was to give up hope completely, to admit himself a failure and a terrible brother. And Isugajuaq was not that kind of man.

Humming a soothing tune, he stalked towards a cache nearby when a flicker of movement caught his eye. Could it be her? But when he paused to gaze upon the figure, his heart sank to see a dark stranger. He should move on, at least, that's what he told himself as his paws carried him towards her in a curios trot. Yet he ached for a change of scenery, a wrench break the cycle.