The Sentinels oh, a second verse!

Indie continued to snuffle through the aging ashes, noting the aged way it crumbled ‘neath her paws.  The scenery had once held strong; charred remains of flora and fauna alike, reduced to mere ashes from the passing months and the strong summer sun. It allowed new growth to begin to push through, though it was clear that nothing large would grow here for some time — nothing like the sentinels Aria spoke of in her stories. Perhaps they would never see their likes again.

New beginnings might make any other wolf feel bright and light, but not Indie! No, somehow the  scene’s melancholic impermanence, the degradation of this holy sepulcher, saddened her. It had been engulfed in a conflagration and made to be nothing — and now what was the forest? Where were the Donnelaith wolves? They were only memories, now; remembered through the stories of those left behind. 

It reminded her too much of Donovan to provide her any sort of comfort.

So, Indie was pleased when another announced their presence. The vaudevillian greeted the stranger with an endearing smile, not alluding to the melancholy that gripped her.  “Oh, hi, hello!” she greeting in a dancing tone, happy for the company.  There was so little company nowadays. “How do you do?”