Redsand Canyon under the water i'll be sharpening my knife

dated to beginning of august

the warlord trails along a stream, gaze tracing the red rock that rose all around. from above, rain falls, the heavens thick and dull with clouds. her shoulder is sore, but lacks it's earlier stiffness. she favours still her hind limb, though she feels the strength within it grows each day. soon, she will return to full strength, and then she can come to a decision about this place. 

she is fond of the mountains; this red-painted place. the rush of the wind at night, the otherness of it. a slow exhale, and the warlord slows, glancing skyward as the rain begins the strengthen.