Moonsong Glacier like every verse of a living, breathing fairy tale

i thought you'd gone too.

maybe not. maybe he had been mourning their losses? maybe he had gone to hunt for the hungry people who had stolen away so many. he was here now; she watched dutch now as if he might disappear.

a momentary contemplation—and she extricates herself from her wallow, climbing deftly from among tree roots and stone to find the more stable earth where he lays.

what do we do?