Bitterroot Valley ✢ And his eyes all over me

she was brighter now, her eyes alive again. good, he thought. the land had not taken her.

he listened while she spoke, his claws dragging careful lines through the caribou hide, scraping sinew clean. walk much, he said with a low hum, gold eyes glancing toward her. you have spirit. wind-footed.

when she promised to come back, his gaze lingered longer than it should have. his jaw worked once, slow, before he nodded. you come back, he echoed, the words quieter. great sky wait.

her last words drew a faint smile, small but there. women strong, he murmured. they make place warm. alive. he looked toward the horizon, where the valley breathed beneath the morning light. maybe wind bring more.

and then, after a heartbeat, his eyes returned to her, glinting with quiet warmth. maybe you bring.