Qeya River šesnaest

she heard him. his frigid declarations and his smacking water. her ridgeback was made for the land, the mountains and taiga. she did not fault him for it.

she meant to go back to him now, to taste the ice water off his dark coat.

she had no words for him now. too infatuated with him, with the moment. it would be him again and again. every year, every cycle of caribou walking they might come back here and choose another.

i love you, she declared now aware that it was not the most charming moment to do such — even if he still chattered and stammered. my husband. my ridgeback.