Totoka River compose a poem, an honest verse of longing

 
The sky was full and clear, as if it did not linger in the storms and atrocities of the past season. This aspect of the universe was one of Olive’s largest inspirations – how the world moved on without consequence, without anxieties and without regrets, onto the next new day [after new day, after new days]… while she, a mortal being, was replete with these very emotions she sought to escape. Olive couldn’t seem to stop ruminating on the past: Dakarai’s submission, Arturo’s ire… The sylph nurtured a healthy apprehension over her immediate future, too. Perhaps that was the challenge of an earthly existence – and the beauty of it: to experience life as it was, rife with trials and tribulations, happiness and sadness… and overcome it all in the end. To leave this life with a much deeper understanding of the role they played in the divine scheme of things.

If that was the truth, Olive was a sage by now. So she gazed up to the billowing heavens, willing that the celestial bodies above show her guidance, to give her some sign that she was still on the path that they had laid out for her.

A rustle and a whine drew her attention away from the dark sky. Before her stood the silent shadow, the sheepdog who continually reappeared in her life when she seemed to need her most.  The small, dark-furred woman was quite comforting, having always been the hushed reprieve that she sought. With Doe and Szymon, she had been the last lingering presence. She had gently healed both her and Dakarai’s wounds – twice. The sheepdog starkly contrasted most of the wolves who accompanied her in life and it was always a refreshing experience [this might have been a product of her muteness, but Olive attributed her affinity to the entirety of the woman’s reserved mien].  Maybe she was the star’s answers to her constant questioning… after all, there were no coincidences in life, only celestial design.

Olive didn’t move her rotund body, but dipped her head affectionately and beckoned the silent woman closer with a flick on her greyscale tail upon the soggy ground.

“I never learned your name,”  the sylph sought, but Olive knew she never receive.