Wapun Meadow leave a light on

uktark watches her a moment longer, reading the truth in her posture more than her words. the smile stays with him; he doesn’t return it, but he doesn’t turn away either.
snow shifts as he rises partway, then settles again—restless, unsure. talking has never come easy, and lately it feels like lifting stone with bare teeth.
his gaze drifts toward the ridgeline, the cut of the land where the bypass waits between peaks. home, if it can still be called that.
…come with me, he says at last, low and rough. to the bypass.
a paw came to itch at his ear, almost a nervous tick.
you can rest there. heal.
then, quieter—almost an afterthought—
would you?