Bear, I mouth.
He whistles low. “Good eye.”
I shake my head once. Not eye.
He studies me a second, then tips his chin forward. “Lead me.”
The word hits harder than it should.
Lead.
I swallow past the tightness in my throat and turn.
The trail unfolds under my feet. Broken stems. Pressed earth. The quiet language of something large moving through the mountain. Rafe stays behind me, and I appreciate his care somuch. He’s close enough to guard, but far enough that I don’t feel monitored.
Every few steps, I glance back, and he’s there. Each time, he gives me a small nod.
We move like that for a while until my breathing settles into something steady. Just moving. Listening.
Then the forest shifts with a low rustle ahead. My hand lifts without thought.
Rafe stops instantly.
I listen. Heavy movement. Not crashing. Passing through. The air turns thick, musky.
I point upward at the fresh, broken branches. He follows my gesture, and immediately understands.
The bear steps into view.
Huge. Dark. Scarred along one side.
My breath stills.
Rafe’s presence tightens behind me, forming into readiness.
I let my shoulders drop. Turn slightly. Soften my stance, so I don’t meet the bear’s eyes. I don’t square up. I don’t challenge. Reaching back, I tug Rafe’s sleeve.
One step.
He follows.
Another.
The bear watches. Snorts. Considers.
I keep my breathing slow. Even. Let my body say what my voice can’t.
We’re not a threat.
The bear turns and shakes. Then his weight lumbers heavy on the forest floor as he fades into the trees. Silence settles in his wake.
Rafe exhales behind me, rough around the edges. “Sweet girl… you just saved us from a bad encounter.”
I blink at him.
He steps in front of me, close but not crowding, and cups my cheek. “You knew exactly how to move. You’re a natural.”
Heat floods my chest—sharp, unfamiliar, almost too big to hold. I catch his wrist, turn his hand palm up, and trace letters with my finger.
