Hoshor Plains the roots beneath my shaded tree / the moon dancing across my sky

Eventually Olive’s movements became more methodical and her entire mien loosened; and her thoughts became lighter and some of that pervasive guilt she always carried around just… faded away. Ranging often had that effect on her, and she took to the road like a fish took to water. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t settled down with one pack or another for the winter yet — she had scented many, that was certain. The desire for freedom, to simply rise and be able to leave her problems behind, was simply too great. 

She sailed across the landscape, silent as a ghost in both mind and body. The weather was not horrible, and that’s about all she could ask for. The woman slaked her thirst at a stream and indulged in the frigid, crystalline waters. She washed her face and continued on. Olive moved like this for some time; and while it wasn’t that often that she came across others, on this trip — she did. 

Olive approached the male, drifting beside him with featherlight steps. Without the mountain’s high winds to deaden sounds, the woman was happy to find that she could articulate in her customary aria, low and sweet. “Hello—” her voice did not fade, but rather her breath cut off abruptly as she looked at the young man, recognition blooming immediately. It was a face that she could never forget, but thought she would never hold witness to again — nonetheless as a grown man. Immediately, she faltered and halted all movements, standing there with mouth agape.

“You…” Her heart clamored and climbed up her throat. “You’re alive…”