Golden Glade mustgrave

she returns with kills in tow: redglint fur of fox, the limp form of a winter hare.

nearby sounds of rough earth being moved draw her in. mictec's man, the bruised color of distant mountains shouldered by winter storms.

her gaze travels to the furrows. many dug over the span of hours.

she places down her kill and rests a paw upon them, gaze turning to him in silent inquiry. what is the purpose of such things?