Two Eyes Cenote i'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre

Sleep. Prune the dead leaves, water the roots, cycle them between sun and shade—never too much light, lest they burn and wither. They are your last hope now, keep them alive. Sleep. Repeat.

This was the half-breed's mantra, the rhythm that steadied his mind and kept his paws from trembling. By day, he immersed himself in the delicate care of his garden, coaxing life from the loamy soil with a meticulous touch. He found solace in the blooms, their vibrant colors and pretty scents a welcome distraction from the lingering presence of those who would see him captured. But when the sun dipped below the horizon and the palace was draped in the deep velvet of night, he would slip away from his sanctuary, moving like a ghost through the silent halls of the place he once called home.

Tonight, the dog made his rounds along the palace's limestone walls, the starlight catching on the pearl of his fur. He paused now and then, listening to the shifting of sand beneath his paws, the faint trickle of water streaming from one of the cenote's cerulean eyes into the lower chambers. He knew every corner of this place, every hidden path and darkened alcove, every stone that might betray him with a clatter. Yet the palace was always full of surprises, and this evening, his route brought him to an unexpected encounter—a figure standing alone at the gate, a sentinel lost in thought.

Machi’s breath caught, just for a moment, his heart giving a quick, startled thump. It was the first time he had seen this guard since his release. The urge to flee, to melt back into the shadows, surged within him, but he tamped it down, feeling instead a stubborn resolve to stand his ground, smooth everything over, and begin anew.

Drawing a slow breath, Machi padded forward on featherlight steps, his paws barely kissing the ground. His posture was relaxed, nearly casual, tail swaying as he approached. He could sense the tension in the air. His eyes narrowed, studying the guard’s troubled expression, the crease of his brow, the sigh that slipped unbidden from his lips. There was something in that sigh—a weariness, perhaps, or maybe a hint of frustration.

Machi settled himself beside the larger figure, lowering himself onto his stomach and letting out a soft, almost inaudible exhale. His ears pricked forward, attuned to the smallest shifts in the man’s demeanor, the subtle cues that might reveal his thoughts.

The stars are beautiful tonight, hmm? he ventured, his voice soft, almost melodic, carrying with it a gentle warmth. There was no need for sharp words or defensive posturing tonight, no reason to stoke the embers of suspicion. Instead, he let his tone convey a sense of quiet camaraderie, an olive branch offered in the stillness of the dark.

He tilted his head back, his gaze drifting upward to the vast expanse of the sky, a sea of indigo dotted with countless stars, each one a tiny beacon in the void.

I find there’s something rather humbling about them, he continued, his voice low and contemplative. Makes one feel... small, wouldn't you agree?