Bitterroot Valley Exit, Pursued by a Bruised Ego

hn. you think right, he said, eyes narrowing toward the distant shapes moving in the grass. break herd. take weak quick.

his shoulders lowered as he shifted into the posture of a hunter, breath slow and even. pain short. that matter.

a step forward, measured and quiet. the bull’s bellow drifted on the wind, and sega’s ears tipped toward it.

you push left, he murmured. i take right. we turn herd north. split clean.

he glanced at callahan then, a brief, steady look— not testing, but recognizing.

no hesitation. no cruelty. just good kill.

another soft rumble, prideful! you hunt like great sky already.