Bitterroot Valley take a gamble that love exists

same lawl

she bristles.

she bristles in a way that one had never bristled, ever before! watching with a smoldering, fury-filled stare as he goes. watching, watching, watching.

even more annoyed that as she does, she finds herself admiring him. it is an agitating thing, oh, it boils her blood and twists her gut into taut twine. locked up like the racks of two great stags.

men. she spits after him, unwilling to admit when she is wrong and certainly capable of holding a festering grudge. and something she wouldn't even consider: regret.

in the morning she would wake up with plenty of it.