Blacktail Deer Plateau the swelling of broken violins

He was fragile, but so was she… but her fragility was of a mental kind, rather than emotional. The ashen dove had always been easily seduced by new ideas and new experiences — and, as quietly as she did, the woman was not opposed forsook deep bonds and ties in this pursuit. She had left her small, natal pack for that very reason, of course. And yet, a year later she found herself settled with a pack of strangers [family]. Yes, her life had too been thrown asunder and shaped into something entirely unrecognizable — but Olive welcomed the experience.  Armand, Olive… they were one in the same, as far as Olive cared. They both felt strongly; the only difference being her own fortune and Armand’s misfortune. 


The golden waif’s title was a mere utterance, but Olive’s ears craved it. To hear him say anything that were not a deliberate jab! Instead he offered his name and said no more. He was a man of few, yet profound words. “Olive,” she replied softly, dipping her chin slightly to christen their formal introduction. 

“I- I, I..." Demurely frustrated with her sudden faltering, Olive took a deep breath. "It was not my intention to rush upon you and offend you with my words.” It was a true sentiment. She felt compelled to apologize now that Armand’s demeanor was lukewarm. Not all misery wanted company, and she had burst in upon the grieving soul in a raucous manner. Even so, she heldfast to her decision not to abandon him and sat resolutely on the ground beside him, close enough that her greyscale pelt brushed against his own.