Lion Head Mesa to carthage then i came

a bark meant to grab his attention disrupts his murky thoughts; momentarily settling the itch for distraction beneath his skin. in the moments of time it takes him to face her, to let his seaglass gaze sweep over her, his mind is blissfully distracted from thoughts of his missing shadow.

the young woman before him bears a pelage of cinnamon and rust, with eyes a piercing indigo that prickles against the nape of his neck as she lifts her chin.

he does not think he's ever seen eyes that color; and for a heartbeat of a moment longer, ingram finds himself captivated by them. but no, that isn't true. his shadow had an eye that shade of purple. his heart flutters into his throat, aching, aching, aching —

it is perhaps, that alone that strings ingram into taking a leaf from slate's book, ingram ghosts a few steps nearer, scarred lips parting to ask, ursus or akashingo? with the mingling scents and the newness of akashingo, ingram cannot not yet quite tell the difference.