Arrow Lake and he floats outside my prison window

at the sign of agreement, stigmata retrieved his defrosting hunk and drove them steadily inland; veering into the mountain-shaded wood at the foot of the toothy sunspires. he followed a wide, frozen stream, and then veered east of it, bringing thorn and their freight to a clear spot in the trees that smelled densely of ice and frosted pine needles. the ground was harder here, but it would serve well as cover for their dead treasures, and the area was an easy landmark to spot in the trees.

stigmata peeled through the snow where he thought was sufficient, and then began to scrape shoveling paws against the hard earth; forelegs straining as he rent free large chunks of dirt-black soil that had gone cold and undisturbed for months. without turning an eye to thorn he commanded the wolf to: "gather more."