Bitterroot Valley if these are life's lessons

sega felt the tremor— small, fleeting, but real— and something in him answered it, a quiet pull low in his chest. her nose touched beneath his chin and the breath he drew in was sharp with warmth, sharper still with the ache of letting her go.

she stepped back, tail wagging, eyes bright with promise. his own gaze held hers, steady as bedrock, even as her teasing words curled through him like smoke.

when she finally turned to leave, pelt held secure in her jaws, he watched her go— watched the pale sweep of her moving through the valley grass, watched the last flick of her tail vanish between the trees. he stayed rooted long after she disappeared, letting her scent thin on the wind, letting the place she’d stood cool.

only when the silence settled did he breathe again.

a low hum rolled through his chest, softened, almost fond. then he turned, paws carrying him toward the northern rise where the caribou paths cut through the frost. the herd moved early this season; he would track them, mark them, keep the valley fed for when she returned.