Bitterroot Valley A Strange Kindness

twitch went still—still—like a hare sighting a hawk, but the look she gave him was anything but prey-soft. her eyes narrowed, something slow and wicked curling up her spine as her mouth pulled into that dangerous, knowing half-smile. “i’ll let you guess, hm?”

she plucked another tuft of feathers free, flicking them toward him with a snap of her paw. some find places in his mane, his to pluck out on his own.

“mh. getting funnier,” she retorted with the same dry humor she used only some days ago. callahan teases, and so she does it right back: a pink tongue kisses her teeth to tsk, brows drawing together while she cooes, a thin line between condescending and sympathetic. “oh, s’ okay sweetie. you couldn’t handle me anyways,” it’s goading, the way she says it—a trap laid out with an eager hunting hoping he would take the bait.