Duck Lake the long fall

uktark did not rise to her words. they slid off him like meltwater.
he turned instead, already moving, trusting instinct over talk. a few paces on, he slowed—shoulder angling just enough to invite her alongside him, not behind. together, if she chose it.
the snow dipped ahead, reeds thinning, earth scratched and warm beneath the crust. groundbirds. tucked low. huddled.
uktark lowered his head and breathed out a quiet huff, barely more than air—
hello.
to her. since she was so inclined.
his tail stilled. his pace matched hers if she took it. the hunt waited, fragile as breath, and he left the choice in her paws.