Bitterroot Valley I waited for you

sega watched her claim the pelt with that sure, deft confidence that stirred something low in his chest. she bent to inspect it, spoke of thickness and cleaning, and he found himself listening the way a hunter listens for the first crack of a caribou’s hoof—intent, fixed, unable to look away.

his tail gave a slow sway. almost a smile tugged at his mouth.

good, he said, voice low, warm. i want that.

he stepped closer, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed as he looked down at the pelt she’d claimed.

no other woman touch my hides, he added. not ravah. not any.

then his gaze slid back to her, steady and unflinching.

you cure for me. only you.

a soft tsk followed, mirroring her earlier daring.

you say this like i ever bring pelt to someone else.