Bitterroot Valley Exit, Pursued by a Bruised Ego

sega snorted, a rough sound caught somewhere between amusement and warning. his eyes rolled skyward in a way that would have looked dramatic on a smaller wolf, but on him, it only read as a gruff attempt at humility.

hn. quiet, he muttered, though a faint pull at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. you talk too much.

he shook out his coat, as if physically brushing off the tease callahan had thrown at him. still, the warmth lingered in his chest, stubborn and present.

he bent down, grabbed his own share of the elk, then lifted his head toward the valley trail.

come, he said, voice settling back into its steady rumble. sun high soon. meat need drying.

he fell into stride beside callahan once more, the easy rhythm of brothers heading home.

and we stay humble, sega added, giving him a pointed look. great sky not need big heads.