Bitterroot Valley garmr

When the hunting was done and bellies were full, Miska lingered in the packlands. There was hunting to be done locally. Not for moose or elk, but the kind of thing that satisfied a deeper, more visceral hunger. A hunt for beauty.

Snow fell on the black wolf as he criss-crossed the valley, nose searching high and low for the barest whiff of @Ravah, the silver mistress under the great sky. He had to meet her.