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she's warmer than her cousins from the north. her yap's excited, honeyed sunlight in a dark day.

soto passes his gaze over where she's pointed.

it's one of the green's tender seedlings, the radicle gone to rot and the stem wilted through by frostburn.

if there was anything to be protective over, he might have stiffened. instead, all he sees is failure.

but her words mean nothing.

placing his paw upon one wilted leaf, soto grinds it into the hard earth.