Bitterroot Valley good, honest snake oil

twitch’s ears pressed halfway back the moment he went quiet. the internal regret is an immediate one—not because she didn’t mean it—but because she did and her tone was off. she felt the sting immediately, tongue running across her lips in spiked nervousness. it does not last

“—sorry,” she cut in quick, “didn’t mean it like...” a pause while she stared open-mouthed, face blank as snow, at a tree across the water. an anxious scoff before she continues: ”uh, you’re fine. sorry.” it is uncomfortably awkward coming out of her mouth.

he continues toward the lake and she is quick at his heel, only a few beats behind, something sheepish tucked into the angle of her ears. his comment offers a chance for quick rebound, and she takes it eagerly. “i’ll have to consider it,” she said, hopping from one patch of dry earth to another until she found a comfortable spot near the bank. “y’haven’t quite wooed me well enough for me to spare your dignity in death.”

she nudged a pebble with her paw, flicked it into the shallows. “so, just outta curiosity, are you planning on asking all the girls to swim with you, or am i the chosen one?