Arrow Lake you can go the distance

An eruption of tiny songbirds, once settled among the withered grass of one of the less used ledges of the claim, heralded the not-so-subtle approach of the pale boy. The staccato flurry of wings sharply catching air gave way to silence, or nearly so, as the boy came crashing through the sparse cover of the trees. In his mouth was a sagging branch that was more than a match for Mesa — it was longer than he was, and curving awkwardly from where his teeth gripped at it so that his neck was torqued at a weird angle. He'd spent the better part of the morning fighting with it; somehow the effort had paid off, leaving him with a massive prize that dragged beside him. He wanted to show it off, and as he trampled across the weathered grass he let the branch drop against the balding hill with a triumphant huff.