her ears tipped forward a fraction. not sympathy, only attention as her gaze swept the pale woman once more, assessing. no wounds she could see that explained the blank spaces. no scent of recent battle or blood clinging to her fur.
snow crunches faintly as she shifts her weight, closing the angle between them by a mere step—respecting distance, sidestepping pity. a pause while the wind cuts between them, cold and thin.
memory loss is common for this place, it seems,she said, thinking back to the pack of caribou-hunters only east of them.
it can come back in fractions. familiar faces, objects, places—they can trigger it.
snow crunches faintly as she shifts her weight, closing the angle between them by a mere step—respecting distance, sidestepping pity. a pause while the wind cuts between them, cold and thin.
i’m headed down from the ridge—if you want clarity, you’ll find more of it below than freezing on a mountaintop.an invitation to join her, should the white woman wish it.
