Blacktail Deer Plateau he stayed alive to sing songs that murdered life

the early morning is overcast, the chill of the overnight hoarfrost settling into his bones as ingram paces through the trees of blacktail deer plateau. thick, heavy clouds block the stars from his view and only an occasional sliver of moonlight illuminates the chaotic veil of cloud coverage where they thin.

grasses, browning and coarse are covered in a layer of frost that crunches under his heavy steps as he draws nearer to the stream that acts as a sort of natural border for the plateau. it gurgles and trickles as it runs over smoothed stones and pebbles, rough edges made sleek over the constant motion of the water and time.

a pearlescent moonstone catches his eye as he laps at the water and though he has never been much of a magpie he steps into the chilly water to scoop the rock up from the stream bed, thinking to himself that it might, perhaps, make a nice gift.