Sunset Valley dreams

He could barely hear what the yearling said, and yet he knew instantly the connection between child and parent. It had been obvious enough when he'd first seen her that she'd had pups, and while he'd never asked about them, he'd assumed her longing had been part of the reason why she'd been so quiet. Ksura saw a yearling, a sign that the woman was creating generations that would live on in her legacy and that more than one litter had been left behind when she'd been brought in.

He looked up to the sky in the moment of their intimacy, and toward the leaning shadows in the distance, knowing in an instant that he would never look up to see the stars rise above his homeland again. The angle and length of both light and shadows told him all he needed to know. The mountains had strange faces, the evergreens had different nettles, and even the sandy earth beneath his feet was a different texture. 

He felt a pang of jealousy as his gaze rose to see the woman address her child again, looking for the words to explain. He frowned. Somehow, he felt it was more likely that the woman would be forgiven by her family. Perhaps she too had been a sheep-killer; he would never know. It wasn't his place to find out, but it seemed as though she was in better company. Ruefully, he wondered why fate couldn't have smiled on him too, and put him back where he'd come from. The thought was quickly dismissed; he knew he couldn't quit old habits, and so had the ones who had wounded him.

He inhaled lightly, and turned, exhaling as he gave the  horizon a look of longing before he swung his head low, and began to tread away.