Sleepy Fox Hollow will you sing for me, even when i'm gone?

his ears flicked, tail giving a lazy swat behind him. gravel cracked under his weight as he turned to face him—wolf, with that same scraggly mane and the same damn eyes. only difference now was time. time and the dust they'd both swallowed since they were colts scraping hooves in somebody else’s shadow.

he didn’t stomp, didn’t snort, didn’t flash a tooth. he didn’t need to. this was his hollow. his band. every breath of wind in this place bent around him.

but still, his chest lifted, and his body squared—just once—as wolf drew close. not to threaten. just to remind.

who he was now.

then, just as quick, the tension slid from his shoulders like sweat from hide. he dipped his head once, low, in that silent way stallions sometimes spoke when words were too fragile for what came before.

he didn’t need to say stay.
didn’t need to say course you’re welcome.

the space he gave was answer enough.

so colosseum dropped his head back to the grass, took another mouthful, and muttered around the stalks:

‘s better graze down here anyhow.

and that was that.