Lion Head Mesa But the roses were only to drain my inspiration

His ears flattened.

If you may call a bobcat “personal”. A crack against his already flailing shield arm, a bare miss.

His heartbeat rabbited away.

I came here once I healed. As I would have done eventually. He remembered, in the vaguest of terms, the palace guard rotations. He stiffened his posture, rolled his weight off his shoulder.

He did not think himself welcome back in Mereo.

I abandoned my post. I am making up for it.

I’m making my father proud, he thought desperately to himself. A mantra as worn into his brain as a canyon.