Dawnlark Plains [m] But you walked by like you never heard

Small gods small gods small gods —

he was no follower —

but what are we if not our devotions?

What are we if not those moments on our knees begging, those moments on our knees crawling, hands in the dirt searching small gods small lives small lives

for something to last forever.

This moment could last forever. This: the meeting of eyes across summergreen plains, the ancient oak and the rolling mists, the sentinel and the wraith. A lift of slender muzzle was his only greeting; he whirled, gilded shoulders twisting to keep the deep blue of his eyes trained on the man as he stepped into the beginnings of a dance.

Small gods —

would never catch him now.