Bitterroot Valley ✢ clockwork

sega lifted his head at the sound of her voice, the low rumble in his chest softening when his golden eyes found her through the pale morning mist. she looked rested now, steadier on her paws, and the sight eased something quiet inside him.

elowyn, he greeted, the word warm, shaped with care in his rough-edged tongue. he took a step closer, the earth damp beneath his paws. you wake early. good.

for a moment, he studied her—the curve of her coat still heavy with sleep, the glint of fog on her fur. then, with a small tilt of his head, he asked, you come far? his accent thickened around the words, but his tone was gentle, curious. from what place?