Fox's Glade and when you’re right, the strength to stand your ground
i will pry his bony fingers free
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thanks was a pleasant enough rejoinder, particularly considering Indra has been as friendly as the pointed side of an iron stave. she smiled, but it was a manufactured gesture - wasted anyway, as the sable pelted male with his peculiar whiskers had already turned away.

she would think no more of him today - perhaps for the better - for if she found out the male met his demise shortly thereafter (and she had, in a way, had a part in it) she would have been destroyed with guilt.

yet blithely, life went on - and it would be some time again before whisker came to the surface of indra’s mind.
now the wren has gone to roost and the sky is turning gold,
and like the sky, my soul is also turning.
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