Bitterroot Valley the night does not belong to god

Twitch. The name was wholly unfamiliar to her, and she grew even more embarrassed. She assumed that this must be what the tone the other woman had taken was about, and forgave her for it at once. It was awkward to meet again like this, after she'd spent so much time being ill right in front of the woman.

Hopefully, she could show Twitch that weak and useless was not her default.

"Angel Oak," she replied, just in case Twitch didn't know her name, either. "What do you need it for?" she asked, not because she was confused, but because, "I have a fox skull," she clarified, "But it's got a hole knocked into the back."

She'd needed the brain, after all.

But even without an explanation, she was already lifting her nose into the breeze, lips curling to better take in the scents around them. No coyote — nothing fresh, at least.

"Maybe a little further out," she suggested, her ears twisting to the south. "I still hear them at night. That way." She tipped her nose vaguely southward.