Wapun Meadow and I've got one foot in the door

she laid and spoke as if she had no worries, no ghosts. lounging like a sun-bathing cat. shrouded in a calmness dolce couldn't ever understand, nor would he ever obtain it. and she spoke as if she herself held the scales of judgement. 

if she had, she made the wrong choice. there were still sins that stained his soul that he couldn't fully wash away. people he's wrong, lives he'd snuffed for nothing more than a coin or two. "y'dont know halfa what i've done, darlin'." he exhaled. "reckon the devil'll make his choice when it's my time for the dirt." 

perhaps it'd be sooner than later. at least maybe then, when he's pushing up daises from six feet under, he'd see rala again. be able to say all the words stuck in his throat, or just hold her that way he once did. 

"y'might like bearclaw. the group i run with—kind, honest folk. real quiet there. think you'd fit in just fine." an offer put on the table. the valley could use her songs breathing back life into it. or perhaps, he could use them. he ain't quite sure what he wants anymore.