Bitterroot Valley sundowning

he had been following the bird-limbed woman.

quiet, a pale stalker against the outbreak of dusk. moving between trees and brush, long limbs folding smooth over root and stone.

he doesn't know why he follows her. but he says nothing still, even when he steps out to reveal himself. watching with unfeeling, yellowed eyes as the gold-eyed one stands, dazed and blinking like he’s been dragged out of sleep too fast.

he stands half in shadow, half in the bruised light of evening, tail low and breath shallow, eyes on them both.