Broken Boulder endless me, endlessly

It was a comfortable silence, and Sequoia found she preferred it to talking. It meant that there were no questions about where she had come from, what had brought her here, or any sort of badgering about her history. That, she decided, she would keep close to her chest. Nobody needed to know about Crow, even if he plagued her thoughts day in and day out. If she had known Mahler suffered from a very similar situation, she might have changed her mind on the subject, but there was only silence.

She paused when he did, then moved in close to the fur and blood. Sequoia drank in the scent. It smelled like the color of tangerines. She scarcely noticed her strange affliction these days, so ingrained it was into her everyday life, but it was still there. Mahler's own scent was a cool slate blue, something that matched his presence quite well. Occasionally, there would be a color that really threw her off, but his blended well with his personality, as far as she could tell.

Sequoia let him move onward once she had inspected the clear mark of what they were after, ready to abide by whatever plan he set in motion.