Bitterroot Valley I waited for you

he stepped forward without hesitation, lowering his head so the pelt brushed against her muzzle.

here, he murmured, the word soft in his rough-edged common.

up close, her scent tangled with the iron of blood and the musk of the fresh kill. something primal tugged at him, but he kept his posture steady, offering the hide for her inspection.

i take quick, he told her, as though apologizing for its unfinished state. you make better.

she spoke of fat and brains and the old ways of curing, and he listened, eyes warm with quiet pride. she knew these things. she carried them well.

when her nose grazed the hide—and then him—his breath caught, a faint flicker of a smile tugging at his jaw.

angel, he said, her name almost an exhale, you show me. i watch.