Bitterroot Valley if these are life's lessons

sega watched her for a long, quiet breath— the way she stood there, earnest and open, offering him trust as easily as most offered doubt. it stirred something deep, something he hadn’t felt in seasons.

he stepped forward, slow enough she could stop him if she wished. when she didn’t, he let the fox fur at her shoulders slip beneath his paws, the soft brush of it warming his pads. gently— almost tenderly— he pulled it higher, tucking it close around her neck and chest. his muzzle brushed the edge of the pelt as he worked, his breath warm against her skin.

when he stepped back, it was only by an inch, his eyes still on her, softened gold.

then he turned, retrieving the other pelt— the one she had asked him to give her mother. brushed and gleaming, carrying both their work. he placed it before her as if placing a vow.

she have this, he said, steady. she see strength in you, and in wolves who walk with you.

a beat. his gaze held hers, warm as ember beneath the frost.

i watch your steps, sega added, the words almost tender. and i wait for your return.