Moonspear and i sing as a songbird

a song whistled him close to the familiar structure of a towering mountaintop. it greeted him like a lost friend, a gentle breezing whisking along his side as if it were a kiss welcoming him back home. home — it was different now, in more ways than one. 

the scent of anaa was faint, yet this did not deter him from crossing the border in long strides of confidence. it felt awkward to knock at the door of his childhood home, and so he did not. his nose took him to the first of many caches, as if he were a child returned to raid a parent's fridge. 

he plucked some slab of meat from the ground and sat contently to gnaw on it while he waited for who would be the first to greet, or rather intercept, his path.