Lost Creek Hollow time to sink way into the blue, dear

as indra walked along the quiet floor of the forest, she was struck by how beautiful — and not so different — the hollow was. the song of the river was quiet, almost tranquil, while the tall and imposing oaks and firs and douglas pine rose from the red floor like solemn but benevolent giants.

speaking of giants; ahead, indra caught a flash of snowstorm between the rioting fire of autumnal splendor. a wolf — her eyes measured the creature as it turned towards her. indra was no clairvoyant, but she didn’t need to be to see the flicker of something not entirely friendly in the wolf’s gaze. intuitive as she was she couldn’t put her finger on it. resentment, perhaps? that didn’t seem to be it, either.

maybe, thought indra, maybe this wolf was like stigmata — reproachful at best of strangers... especially those that had invaded her home.

indra tried to give her best apologetic smile, but it was more of a grimace. she supposed the last thing anyone wanted to do after dealing with a bloody loss was entertain an annoying newcomer. indra would try to read treason during their discourse - to see if maybe there was something she ought to do, or know. hi — yes, indra. and.. forgive me, I can’t recall...? her brow scrunched; she couldn’t remember if treason had said anything at all, least of all her name.