Bitterroot Valley good, honest snake oil

rdr2 mission for the title... i see you... <3

Barrett followed behind in easy silence, majorly puffed out from the run, and yet, not denying of any conversation. Considering the last words that had been shared, he wanted to be careful with whatever he may have to say, although he knew that she did not necessarily need such a thing.
He let out a slight chuckle at her half-bound, but raised his brows and flattened his lips at the look she shot towards him. Let his face follow the tip of her tail, as if savouring it. Where'm I from, huh? He echoed, almost as if asking himself the question, too. Thing is, I don't think I really remember, tone was a muse, though one that was... forlorn. All-too-conscious of something that was now lost. Figures, once as real and true as the earth beneath him, turned to shadow and ash. Nothing more than a foggy memory.
But something within his spirit rose, when he saw the way in which the golden rays spilled across her figure, catching on her mountain-against-valley hues and decorating her in warmth. He wanted to comment on it—not to make a move, necessarily, but rather, an observation, akin to a critique before a fine portrait, sharing opinion on the masters' fine strokes and careful lines.
Reminds me a' somethin', he chuckled, blunt in saying but warm in gaze. Barrett moved to walk beside the woman, now, flicking his tail across to quietly mingle with her own, should she so accept. You remember anythin' 'bout yerself, miss? Came a question of his own. She was not obliged to answer; that much, he was sure that she knew. Gave her a careful look. A warm gaze, before he turned back to the trail. Saying the following within silence:
You ain't gotta share, but I'll listen if ya do.