Rattleskin Redoubt april is the cruellest month

Don't let 'em down, he murmured to himself.

The lithe darkling had grown somewhat more loquacious, especially in the presence of his lover—but nearer the lands of his birth, the words began to dry up—

Dry up like any moisture in this air, baked by the sun, the emptiness. . .

It was perfect for him. Just him, though. They'd be looking for something more enticing, with food and greenery and promise;

That wasn't here. 

But he'd enjoy it for now.

He sat beneath the curve of an ancient arch of sandstone, reds and golds and even purples striating throughout the structure. His paws ached with the journey; the sun seemed to soak into his dark pelt like summer rain into soft loam.

Just a break. Just a breather.

He'd not moved this much since he'd left the creek behind for good.