Bitterroot Valley ✢ And his eyes all over me

perfect, hm? he echoed, voice roughened by accent. you think i not know? the faintest grin pulled at his scarred muzzle, golden eyes glinting like sunlight through smoke.

he worked beside her, his teeth and strength where her precision lacked, the rhythm between them unspoken. when she asked, he paused, gaze turning toward the mountains beyond the valley.

ute, he said at last. tongue of my people. from big sky, far northwest. his voice softened around the name, reverent. old words.

he looked back at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. you learn? he asked, then spoke low, slow, so she could catch each syllable.

tʉvʉʉ pagʉtsi.

his head dipped slightly. mean… good heart. or… his eyes held hers, warm as firelight. …strong spirit.