Lion Head Mesa each one a line or two

for @Charles. dated before the queen's murder. early may maybe?

he wandered the halls, on his way to the upper levels, where he could properly sunbathe and scorch away all them awful worries that kept his head bent and brows furrowed.

the route required of him to pass by the old residence of his friend. still the dog would occasionally poke his head in and take a sniff, but not as of late; the way crowfeather's scent waned only saddened him more.

today, however, passing by the doorway, he caught a fresh smell, and heard from within sounds unmistakably canine. in spite of all pessimism, bad dreams and dark thought, gucci was at once glowing and excited, the way he'd been whenever his Ma would come back home after a day's absence.

on teacup paws the dog pranced into the apartment, dogtag tinkling like a lamb's bell, trough the drawing room definitely now inhabited and into the bedroom where his dear dreary dark friend rested--

"oh." 

the male on the bed was not crowfeather. it took only a glance to take in his much narrower and smaller features and far more colorful coat - and for all that excitement to go with the wind.

oh.

"you ain't crawfetha." gucci said, instantly cringing at his own blunt idiocy.