Bitterroot Valley good, honest snake oil

twitch huffed, soft but certain, “i don’t think ‘good’ is the word you’re lookin’ for,” she muttered, brushing past a bramble that snagged at her fur. “i’m coherent. you don’t know me well enough to say anything else.” she lays it out plain, factual, the way someone might state the weather.

his second question snared her harder. she stopped mid-step, shoulder dipping in a faint flinch before she forced herself forward again. “he has a wife.” she says, “i don’t really think i’m his type.”

she angled her chin toward the shimmer of water through the trees. “s’awful cold for a swim,” she answered, softening. “but i don’t mind watching.”