Bitterroot Valley if these are life's lessons

the pale fox pelt catching the morning light like snow caught in motion. he took her in quietly— the steadiness of her step, the strength knit back into her frame, the resolve sitting firm behind her eyes. healed enough to walk. healed enough to choose.

he rose to meet her, broad shape steady as the trees around them.

her words drew a slow nod from him, no surprise in his face— only understanding.

hn, he murmured, deep in his chest. good. mother should have what you carry.

his gaze traveled once more over the fox fur, the care in every stitch, then returned to her with something close to pride.

he stepped aside, leaving the path open to her.

you go, he said simply. wind safe with you. feet strong.

a pause— then his tone softened, warm beneath the rough edges.

great sky here when you return. and quietly, too, i will be here.