Starglow Basin i have it out

His ankle licks across a sun-bleached skull. The gate that leads to life in the basin is so narrow and small that few find it. How fortunate she is to have survived the wastes. How fortunate to have found Osiel.

“Drink your fill,” he permits then passes upstream, navigating the grippy scrub brush to a den tucked into the ridgeside. When he returned the leg of a hare was gifted, and a name. “Ocho.”

“What are you called, traveller?” The faint glow of morning sun edged her face in gentle tones of blush, as it did his darkened profile. For a moment they stood in pastels.