Bitterroot Valley you played your games

Her back popped pleasantly, vertebra realigning with the sprightliness of youth. She felt refreshed when she finished her stretch and, tail flicking, looked back at the rocks that the pale wolf had been watching her from. It was odd to her that the woman still had come no closer, seemingly with no intention of interacting with her.

Angel was trying her very best not to take it personally. 

With another quiet sigh, she looked back at her fox pelt. Perhaps the problem was that she'd been too hasty tearing off larger pieces. Now the smaller tags were too miniscule to easily catch between her teeth. This pelt could not be whittled down to perfection any further.

She supposed it would still make a lovely gift for Elowyn.

Angel bundled the fox's decaying brain in its pelt and trotted off toward the river with the whole thing. She slowed as she neared the pale woman and, briefly dropping her pelt, asked, "Would you like to help?"

It seemed to Angel that, if she had wanted this, she would've offered it long ago. But it seemed strange not to say anything at all, even if the woman had set such a precedent.