Redsand Canyon as the building continues to burn

last post for me!

another parallel, another piece of the puzzle hidden in a tangle of double-edged words: like finley, renard was not a leader. they were a follower, a weapon, an executioner: they had been that for years. they preferred it that way. the point of rebellion was an obtuse thing at best; they’d ended more than one.

yet two months in this place, watching an entire deck of cards slowly topple down on its head, they couldn’t regret the decision – to leave, or to sacrifice the pawn. where was the fun in things when you weren’t toeing the line? waiting for the tightrope to snap and spill them all into the water was still better than the old routine, and in the meantime they were more than happy to let donovan point them any which way.

good for her she’d been careful. a smart move to make. if donovan pointed them in her direction, well, it would be a mistake – she was the only one here with a head on her shoulders – but they’d do it. they wouldn’t be the one to offer the information, of course, not when it would bring them both under the gun.

still, the fact remained.

renard tipped their head. watched her turn and vanish into the hills, a cacti’s worth of needles still lodged in her fur.

they weren’t one for omens or superstition. a waste of time. all that mattered was your teeth and tongue and ability to use them.

but wouldn’t it be funny if it was.