Bitterroot Valley the night does not belong to god

“i remember you,” she said instead, glancing sidelong with a bit of a wince. straight to the point, she was—perhaps too much so. the woman offered an alternative, a fox skull, and her mouth twitches. it is not irritation so much as it is stubborn insistence. she could not be swayed, and so she shook her head.

“s' kinda personal. just need a coyote,” she reaffirms it without elaboration, non-negotiable. her nose follows angel's own, setting her eyes south. “oh,” she said, “okay. um—did you want to come with?”

sorry she's a weirdo lol