Bitterroot Valley ✢ I can't find one good reason for leavin' here alone

Sega offered him the honor of escort with a side of mild insult. Miska accepted with a nefarious grin and a little bow, but his eyes remained hard. Chance had made it so, not Sega's favour.

The girls looked horrified (to their credit, very briefly), as though a rabid bear had just offered to take Calla-what's place. Miska excused this. They were yearlings, little girls, barely off their mothers' teats. The world would callous their soft and shimmering souls soon enough. He took Angel at her word instead, offering a sincere nod when she thanked him and turned to Elowyn with the softest smile available to him.

They would go north-west. Skirting the mountains and passing the sea where he had nearly killed a mute young thing for sport. When Miska had relayed this plan to Elowyn after a moment's calculation, he turned back to the happy couple.

"You think am savage," he said on a  tired exhale. "I see face, understand meanings of loud. Is OK." He shrugged. "I live hard, ugly life, make hard, ugly wolf. I share with you learnings. When it is bad times, you will not calling to dancing prince with soft mouth to protecting you." His eyes slid to Angel. "Protecting your children. You will call to loud savage with long teeth."