Blacktail Deer Plateau Little by little

Thistle was dying, not dead. She had kept her main personality, though it had been tempered with grace. She was still the fiery little thing that her husband had fallen in love with, but her heart was weary and her head. She could no more always find the silver lining. A hard life had ripped that small gift out.

Thistle chuckled. Perhaps you are right. I suppose I have lived along life, that is lovely in it's own right. No.

Thistle shifted her petite self and lifted her head. She felt smaller than she had, perhaps there was truth to shrinking as you aged. She felt smaller than she ever had before.

Why, i'm going there to die, young one.