Lion Head Mesa Hate when you tell me that you'll wait

she welcomed him and for a while they moved in silence. her eyes occasionally closed when the winter wind reached to tussle her golden fur.

then his voice finally pierce the silence, and she knew to listen. she had learned that his voice was not wasted upon unneeded things. so what plagued him?

i do not believe you to be alone in it. but she said nothing more. not names, not judgements, not an utterance of more. he must forge on, for there must be a purpose.