Starglow Basin i have it out

@Osiel
they are at the edge of the territory!

Spring gave splendor to the many, and assurance to the few. In hindsight, Hiro could acknowledge the gift it gave in their past, and in this present there cropped up a longing for it. And whenever this ache peeked from the hollows of their mind, they'd gone to bury it. Over and over.

I am the few.

Summer came, a  period where the scraps of the previous season froze to time. Hiro was left to pick at what remained.

Summer went. Thus began the slow crawl towards the harshest of months. Hiro had yet to face it alone. Knowledge gained from word of mouth was all he had to prepare.

They were reminded of it wherever they traveled. In verdant leaves turned scarlet to brown. In morning frost kept sturdy by a longer lasting chill in the air. The earth they walked began to lose its warmth.

But soon they’d find themselves in foreign land. Here it seemed the world lagged behind in season. It gave off a summer’s warmth in appearance alone. Whatever few trees were here had yet to lose its greenery. In these days spent in the sands, Hiro could think, if only for fleeting moments, they'd be free of the struggle of winter.

These thoughts, though brief, kept them tied to this lonely land for now. Come morning and they stalked the rim of these flatlands for any sign of life. He wondered if prey would be as bountiful as it has been in those warmer months here.

Osiel shares his west-facing cave with a bull snake. These are the sorts of bedfellows exhumed from this region of the desert. Scant, and isolated. Miles of treacherous land with minimal cover. Scorching, until the twilight hours, when blue skies darken to a pitch-black, and the air turns to freezing.

But the basin had the right altitude, soil acidity, and rainfall to grow the green. Something he and Soto agreed upon. And high above on his rocky bluff, Osiel has an unobstructed view of the surrounding flatlands.

It is why he stands at the prow of his den, watching a lone figure draw closer.

And closer; he starts to see a distinction threading the brush and thick arms of joshua trees.

The ocelote treads down from his seat and edges out towards the silver, tail stiff with crowing authority.

A steady trot slowed to a crawl as they continued on this path. Hiro’s nose twitched when something pungent wafted towards them. Something unique yet familiar all the same. A smell absent in their travels thus far. With a furrowed brow, the yearling crept to a nearby tree, bowed their crown at its base, and inhaled.

Hiro’s eyes widened as recognition fully hit him. He’d strayed too far this time.

And before they could even think of turning tail, another scent was carried on the wind. Stronger now, not prey but predator. Hiro turned to see his large form illuminated by the purples and gold of the incoming day. He was approaching, and now it was too late to run.

Hiro’s head lowered in an apologetic show. Forgive me. Their mother tongue slipped with purpose, reflex even. I did not mean to come so close to your claim

Only a child. Her gray furs are smeared with sand and travel, yet her eyes when she speaks the foreign words are clear. The ocelote stares down at her face and shoulders, eyes cool upon the burning skin.

“Come, niña. Eat, drink. You have not found Verapaz by accident. You are guided by the grace of the sāncte Atocha.”

She is beckoned to follow him down into the valley, where the basin shimmered in rose-colored light.

Their submissive show grants them what they want and more. Mercy, and a promise to food and water.

Such niceties were not foreign to him, both in the past and pasts past. He was subject to such gestures just this spring. It had been more casual then. Now it seemed to be fate, or so this man claims. Men claim many things.

There was a moment of hesitation before Hiro stepped forward. A chill sat in their chest, a shiver ran down their spine. But in the end they swallow this worry and follow with a lowered gaze. Winter is coming, and solitude would not become easier.

You scavenger! You succubus! A ghostly voice spat poison in their head. Were they forever destined to a life like that?

It was too soon to tell, or so they'd tried to convince themselves. But Hiro was not one to rely on brighter outcomes. Such hopes were killed so long ago, and they were left with corpses filled with empty promises.

His ankle licks across a sun-bleached skull. The gate that leads to life in the basin is so narrow and small that few find it. How fortunate she is to have survived the wastes. How fortunate to have found Osiel.

“Drink your fill,” he permits then passes upstream, navigating the grippy scrub brush to a den tucked into the ridgeside. When he returned the leg of a hare was gifted, and a name. “Ocho.”

“What are you called, traveller?” The faint glow of morning sun edged her face in gentle tones of blush, as it did his darkened profile. For a moment they stood in pastels.

He led Hiro through the dusty terrain and towards a stream tucked within territory. Just the sound of its gentle babble reminded them just how little they've been able to quench their thirst. They plunge their mouth into the water as soon as they were invited to do so, and in the man’s absence their lapping grew feverish.

Water streamed from Hiro’s maw when they at last lifted their head. Their eyes fell to the meal that was promised.

Chihiro. They looked up at Ocho briefly to give a nod, a thank you, before gingerly dragging the leg towards them. But they ate with as much grace as they drank.

Hollow tolls of sand against stone draw the swivel of ears, but wine-colored eyes do not once leave the girl, watching the shatter of bone between molars with castoff pleasure.

“A wolf in the desert is looking for something, or running from something. Which are you, Chihiro?” He poses, a weighing look settles upon the stranger in gray.