Bitterroot Valley I waited for you

sega found her by scent first— fox-blood copper on winter air— then by the quiet hum threading through the grass.

he stepped from the slope above, a fresh badger skin draped over his shoulder, still thick with its own heat. he'd taken it that morning. not yet cured. not yet ready. but worn with the quiet pride of a hunter returning to his people.

angel, he greeted, voice low, warm. his eyes drifted over her work, the neat peel of fox hide at her feet, the small cuts on her muzzle she pretended not to mind. good pelt. you make clean cuts.

he shifted, the badger skin sliding slightly down his flank. he adjusted it with a huff.

i bring this for cure later, he said, nodding to the hide. you… maybe show me better way? a faint, rare smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. i not so gentle as you.