Bitterroot Valley good, honest snake oil

twitch slid him a side-eye at the question—one of those quick, foxlike glances that never gave away much, but caught everything. for a second, she considered joking it off. the low-hanging fruit was there, but she doesn’t prod. his words were sincere, near mournful behind it all, and she wasn’t cruel enough to stomp on it.

“mm,” she hummed, picking her step around a knot of exposed roots. “guess that makes two of us.” she didn’t look at him when she said it—more focused on the path ahead. her ears angled back, though, halfway toward him, like she wanted to show she wasn’t shutting him out.

“i remember pieces,” she admitted. “nothing specific. left home early, so it been a bit of a blur. didn’t have a lot of structure, you see,” it’s a heavily condensed summary with the bad bits pulled out—she had no desire to make herself vulnerable. a beat passed.

“think sega was throwing me a bone when i ran into him again a month back. wasn’t doing great.” she kicked a pinecone off the trail with a lazy swipe of her paw. “he’s sweet. probably wouldn’t be here if not for him.” she doesn’t elaborate further, instead permitting him to interpret himself.