Redhawk Caldera i know its wrath and ruin

the borders are quiet; subdued and draped in the soft light of an awakening morning; buttery golds it is serene. roswell expects as much. the world is still half-asleep. tree frogs croak sleepily — though he assumes they are more likely getting ready to sleep than waking up — and songbirds have begun their early morning symphonies.

roswell gives pause, taking a moment to linger in the sounds, the soft warmth of the sunshine as it breaks thru the canopy of the trees above, the sweet dew that covers the grasses underfoot.

it is comfortable and ...for reasons unknown to the yearling there is a stirring of desiring more than brews beneath the surface.