Bitterroot Valley objects of ceremony

sega’s smirk was a small thing, more in the eyes than the mouth, but real. miska’s teasing rolled off him like rain off stone— familiar, expected, almost welcome.

he gave a low grunt, half amusement, half dismissal. hn. not like that, he muttered, though the idea wasn’t entirely thrown away. twitch was young still, tucked behind her own walls. she needed warmth, not weight.

yet his gaze softened when he spoke next. she must grow, he said. come out of shell. world bigger than fear. a pause, then a slow tilt of his head toward miska. you help. you loud. she need loud.