Bitterroot Valley A Strange Kindness

she’s a freak im sorry barett

---

she tries not to look delighted at the reaction he offers, but subtlety was never her strong suit. the grin she offered him was all teeth and triumph, a victory she wore shamelessly.

her ears perked, a hitch of surprise tugging her gaze from her bird to the patch of rabbit fur he’d accidentally shredded, then up to his sad, sad face. “sorry,” she feels obligated to say it, nudging his shoulder as if it’s enough to make it better, “first try’s never the best one. promise i only bully you ‘cause it’s easy.”

she plucked another feather free from her pheasant, setting this one at his paws—it’s mottled, brown and tan with a flash of read at the end. it must not be enough to soothe him, because now he stands, asks to walk instead. she finds no reason to say no.

she rose to her feet, shook loose the stray down clinging to her sides, and nodded toward the treeline with a loose flick of her tail. “c’mon, meltdown,” she added, more light-hearted now, if only to keep things from getting too earnest.