Silver Moraine XVII

Were it possible, Sunday might have worn grooves into the earth. But much of the tension she had felt had gone away with the movement, and by the time Mountain Boulder called she felt far more at ease. She answered with a call of her own; he would not be ignored. And so the windswept woman followed his trail, nose against the earth as she went. The distance was great, but Sunday was swift. In time, she was before them. Her head lifted for a quick beat as she noted them.

Her eyes were firstly for Mountain Boulder, who stood companionably alongside the man her gaze next turned to.

But her gaze was quick to avert, head lowering as she slowly made her approach. She paused midway, licking her chops submissively/ Sunday Morning did not wish to overstep or offend, and so she made herself smaller so as to not invite the wrath of the new man. His scent on the wind was familiar; Mountain Boulder had worn it upon his return to her.