Dawnlark Plains I drew that glass across his neck, fine as any blade.

Along the fields he went, seemingly alone until he wasn’t.

It was the wind that first betrayed Avicus’ presence. Years of hard solitude lead Riley to be wary, but he slowed his steps all the same until the red speck took on shape, and then familiarity.

His blood ran cold, for a moment — but he realized this was not Indra. Only a form startlingly similar.

His bladed hackles settled to something less defensive; as she came close and her gaze and chin lifted, Riley understood the silent question lodged between them.

He turned his shoulder to her, so she might draw from his fur the story of his travels; the scent of wood pine, of sun, of his last kill two days before (woodchuck), of his unbroken solitude save for now. Of who he was — male, moderately healthy albeit skinny, capable, but alone.

And if she allowed, he would carefully do the same — sift from her pelt the story she carried with her.