Wapun Meadow But before I can fly up

The early morn used to be a comfort for him. The warmth of the sun, its rays sneaking into the den of he and his missing wife. Warming the fur upon his back and the fur upon Rala's side, in which he used to nuzzle against with greed and reverence alike. A comfort now gone—stripped from him without warning, without a goodbye. 

Now, early mornings felt hollow. Dreadful. Every day his eyes would open to find their den empty, was a day he'd spend yearning. Grieving. The whisper of her scent, now fading and stale taunted him. The side of her den once lush with her hides and pillows now bare, as he couldn't stand the sight of her comforts. 

And still, despite the pain and despite the hollowness that sits in his chest, a song calls to him. A woman calls to him. The Covey gal he'd met a while ago, who'd sang a song so sweet that the southern man might have forgotten his pain, if only for a moment captivated by her. 

That same lilting note he'd come to yearn. Selfishly, terribly—because who was he to want anything? To wish for a reprieve for pain he was meant to feel? It's a strange divide, one the man who'd come to face many hardship, was not brave enough to confront. 

It was terrible of him to find comfort in another woman while his heart still aches for Rala. Cruel, even. 

And yet, her songs is like a siren calling her sailor out to sea. He cannot resist. Each step is heavy, but the closer he comes to her, the lighter he feels. 

There she is—hugged by the morning light, as much a vision as the last time he'd seen her. Wasn't it so cruel that his dreams, which should have included his missing wife, had her written all over? 

For a moment, he simply watched. Admired, before her melody brought him closer. Slowly, and with a tired, not-quite smile. "Mornin, Eulie. Been a minute since I last seen ya." His voice gravely, rough. Exhausted. "How ya been, songbird?"