Bitterroot Valley Paying a Social Call

sega froze as she rushed him, the sound of her laughter striking straight into a place he thought long buried. when she threw her paws around him, he leaned in without thinking, breathing her in — dandelion, snow, home.

ravah, he murmured in their tongue, rough with disbelief. you live. you're here.

her praise, her teasing, her touch— all of it crashed into him like spring melt. but when she spoke that old name, covah, something sharpened. he drew back just enough to meet her eyes.

covah is dead, he told her quietly in the language of big sky. he was only a boy.

a breath. i am sega tuhut now.

she spoke of his uncle and pride, and his throat tightened. he bowed his head once, deeply, in the way of their people.

he walks with the snow-spirits, he said. i hope he sees.

then, to her last teasing bite, a soft huff— almost a laugh.

a smirk tugged at his scar. you still talk too much.

her teasing nip only made it widen.

at her gesture toward callahan, sega turned, golden eyes softening with a gratitude he rarely let show. he dipped his head to the dark male, a gesture of acknowledgment, of thanks.

he good hunter. good brother. he told ravah. bring you safe. i owe him.

then he looked back to her, gaze warming despite the shock still settling in his bones.

you stay, sega said, voice thickening with something unspoken— relief, maybe. belonging? great sky your home now.

and under his breath, meant for ravah, never thought see you again.

only then did he turn, including callahan with a switch into broken common, his voice carrying the weight of welcome.