Bitterroot Valley the night does not belong to god

twitch stiffened before she turned, ears pricking at the sound of paws behind her. when she looks over her shoulder, she finds herself face to face with a girl she has not yet met—not officially.

even then, she remembers her. hard not to when you’d spent half a day hovering ten steps away like a useless ghost while others did all the real work. old habits die hard, she supposed.

"uh— yeah. sure. i'm twitch." it came out flat, awkward—about as good as she ever got with strangers. she slowed a little so angel could fall in beside her, eyes flicking back to the trail ahead like she could will a coyote into existence through sheer spite. no such luck.

"looking for a coyote." she added after a beat, like she owed the woman something more by way of explanation. "need a skull, but the border’s been quiet."