Bitterroot Valley Paying a Social Call

sega came at the summons at a steady trot, expecting callahan, expecting news of the morning or a request for work. but the moment he stepped into view, his breath hitched— a small, sharp thing in the back of his throat.

the scent struck him first.

then the shape.

then the eyes.

ravah.

for a heartbeat, he stood still as a stone. the maple light caught along his pale coat, his jaw tightening, ears angling forward as if the whole valley tilted beneath him.

he had not smelled big sky on another wolf in many seasons.

boyhood warmth. boyhood ache. a small, foolish thing he had once held for her flickered and died in the same breath, replaced by something deeper— recognition. belonging.

he stepped closer, slow, careful, as though she might vanish if he moved too fast.

ravah, he said, voice low, steady despite the shock pulsing under it.

his gaze softened, the weight of old home settling behind his eyes.

you're here.

finally, words spoken in his own tongue.