Kildeer Rest how chance the roses there fade so fast?

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the coyote's voice is lyrical as she sings, note falling with the same ease and rhythm than autumn's tumbling leaves. each word is bright and cheerful against the monotonous world, and witchhazel can almost imagine the colours of the song, bright like the world she saw so long ago. abruptly do the notes stop, and the girl falls motionless. murmured instruction has her nimbly avoid the cluster of rock, one of the many here that her friend must guide her around. she knows she is in the clear when the coyote's guiding touch falls from her shoulder, and again do notes fall from her in an everchanging melody. 

how small where they against the vastness of this place! they had travelled together since togo had returned that morn, and still did they find themselves in some wide open place. the day too had turned saturnine, the heavens growing heavy as flakes began to work their meandering way down to rest upon the duo's backs and the land all around. the girl's eyes strained against the growing darkness, and more frequently was the coyote's song interrupted by her gentle guidance, and yet there was little inclination that the canid grew cross. 

for togo, too, was unwanted, unneeded. the coyote spoke little of why she'd been ousted so long ago, other than the reason may have something to do with the crooked set of her jaw and the warped hind limb that made her gait so distinctive. but appearances had never amounted to much in the woman's view, a sentiment that had only increased when her vision had been stolen by the fire so long ago. and so they were content together, the blind wolf and the ugly coyote. 

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