Sly Fox Sand Dunes [m]e and you and awkward silence

waggles eyebrows

he pitied her.

he thought her a captive, chained to the scorched and sterile land of gritty sand. she did not seem bothered by her limitations, like a horse with blinders, she could not desire what was not seen. what was not tasted. and oh how sweet the taste of freedom was.

but was she a prisoner of body or mind?

"does it not grow repetitive? seeing the same sights, waking up to the same view every morning?" her world existed in shades of beige and fallow. he could not imagine such a colorless existence.

he thought then of a remedy for her faded palette. "i will bring you a gift next time i am here, one from the green land." a gift of color, of what she could not obtain herself.