Morningside Cuesta Act I, Scene I

She’d begin to mirror his lax bearing and watch as he appreciated the springtime bounty of the rolling land. A soulful look he had, one that knew great sorrow, and at such a tender age. Tauris would feel a tight tug in her chest, and when his attention returned she’d conceal it with a flick of ear and shrug of silver shoulder.

“Don’t know. Maybe my mother thought it sounded ‘cool’, too.” Tauris did have meaning, a few of them, but she’d divert back to the aptly named boy who was practically pooling in a puddle of melted wax feathers. Had he fallen from the sky?

“You are so young to be far from home, Íkaros,” She observed aloud, less delicately than she should have, given the stain of tears upon his cheeks, though the girl was ruefully impulsive, and usually found herself paying for it after-the-fact.

Her lack of affiliation was confirmed, “No pack,” but no true rivals, either. Which was something, even if she hadn’t made a positive acquaintance of every passing ship. They all seemed to hold a certain hunger in their eyes and gaits. Wolves weren’t meant to live alone and eventually their bodies and minds broke down for it.

She did not ask the question in kind, this skinny dispersal wore the answer on his back.

At Íkaros’ inspection, to her mouth she raised a pollen-clad forearm and in one heavy breath blew as hard as her lungs would allow. A thousand tiny fragments of marigold festooned over them both, lifted higher by the gusts of morning.

“Oops,” slipped between grinning teeth.