Golden Glade mourn the wicked

clouds brawl overhead, unleashing new snow on the world.

atoztli stays under the arm of a tall douglas fir, watching. she longs for the balmy days and busy nights of her homeland.

another silhouette cuts through the glade. atoztli's dark gaze tracks the figure until it comes close.

she shifts from under the aegis, bracing the winter storm to follow after him. just close enough so he might know of her presence, and yet, not so close as to invite physicality.