Lion Head Mesa The sun doesn't give light to the moon assuming the moon's gonna owe it one

It had been a gift to escape in such a way. She had allowed him to savor the time in which they were the only things that mattered, and then he had fallen swiftly into a sound slumber—the first deep sleep he had been allowed in quite some time. But the issue with deep sleep was that the mind often took the opportunity to open the heavy door that trapped the memories he couldn't process. 

He was a child again, walking at his father's side on large, uncoordinated paws. They spoke in a dream language, happy and content, as they explored the territory. But then his paw was trapped within the gnarled roots of a tree, and no matter how much he cried out, his father didn't seem to hear him; he just kept walking on as if nothing had happened, eventually disappearing in the distance, swallowed by the horizon. Suddenly he was a man, alone in a cave, watching the rain pour down outside as he tried to shelter himself from the freezing wind. It had been the loneliest he ever felt in his life, and he had tucked the memory away as soon as he had been able to leave that place.

His eyes flicked open as he sensed her movement, even as slight as it was and as deep as his sleep was. Kallik stretched and curled himself around her, nuzzling into her fur and immensely grateful he was far from alone right now. Thank you, he breathed against her fur.