Redsand Canyon i can see your face in the parisian paintings

Anselm did not mean to stalk the footsteps of his mother. As they wove their way out of Paleo and out into the plains, Anselm found himself drawn to the trail blazed in Wylla’s wake. 


She had some hours ahead of him — when he arrived he was out of breath and unaware of the scents she’d been tracking herself. Where are we going, Mama? The boy’s tail waved reverently behind him as he came to stop just a little before Wylla as she scraped the red earth under her paws.