Redsand Canyon the olive tree

she would find him there, fresh from stretching his muscles in boyish displays by himself. as if he was the star of the stage, aching for a proper fight.

but, ah, no such thing was true. he was grateful for peace when it was found — as much as he was grateful for times of war.

he would spot her when she neared enough, her coat vibrant against the winter colors. although this time he was aware enough to not gaze upon her so heavily. which was easy when she carried something in her jaws.

yet he did not break the silence, still carrying some since of awkward delicacy from the way she had departed last time.