Bitterroot Valley ∟∟ móki

callahan war-d, he repeated back, carefully, not to overstep on the vowels that were unfamiliar on his tongue. though, he was getting better. from what his common had been, it's been a serious improvement.

he settled onto his haunches nearby, gaze drifting toward the valley that stretched east— his home, their shelter, the breath of great sky.

at the question, his ear flicked.

seven, he answered. small band.

his eyes warmed, the faintest hint of pride touching his voice. not much, but good people. strong. kind.

a beat passed, wind brushing through the grass around them.

we grow slow, sega added. right wolves, not many wolves.