Luneshale Pass salgado

The lion has made himself a rare sight in recent months. He slinks through the the shadows as though they are one in the same, travels in the cover of night or while patrols are switching out. His lingering scent is all the leaves him seen most days.

But even he has learned to understand the weight of a tragedy. One of their own died, Soto left for a time. There was an unrest in the pass that pulled him out of the deep grave he had began to dig months ago. He had seen it in Leto's insitence that her children stay closer than before, deep in Kemal's eyes where the brute kept his semblance of feeling. Now he seeked to know it in another, too.

He watches for a time as the man works, only coming down to the fields he was once made to patrol when everything stills. ¿Aún estás de luto? He asks in a strangely hushed tone. In recent months he found that Leto was quite the good teacher; his understanding was still limited, but most of it was putting meaning to words he already knew through listening. The constant speak of death had made it an easy topic for him to communicate.