Whitebark Stream atê

in silent defiance he retraced his own steps. at dusk he hunted, and through the night chased scavengers from his kills. he did not think of her. he would not think of her.

blood on the wind; death whispered in its rushes. kairos was drawn by the faded scent of it. something had happened here.

perhaps he would find someone to tell him the story of it.

in time the soldier found a girl — no, a woman, wreathed in the scent of flowers which set his jaw into a hard line of unwanted remembrance. kairos stood silent and drawn to full height, eyes sharp upon her.