Qeya River whisper, move the air
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clouds rolled across a flat expanse of blue, the wide expanse of the taiga dappled with shadow and light. it was too late in the morning for birds to fill the emptiness with their cacphony of sound, yet now and again the discordant cries of jays, or high pitched whistles of cardinals would snap the silence. 

anatha moved through the plains like a flicker of flame among grasses, silent save for the dull crackle of tan-burned grass beneath her pawpads. the harsh angles of her ribs had softened considerably in the past few months; yet some of the angles carved into her face, her hips, were too deeply etched to be softened by only a few months of good living. 

only this time, the good had not ended because it was torn from her, but because she had chosen to go back, to come here. there existed things she must do, tasks she'd never seen through, scars left burning.
did you hear the sun go down?
silent as a child I found
hiding in the midnight of my soul
I am ready now to let her go
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whisper, move the air - by Anatha - June 22, 2018, 06:34 AM