Meadowlark Prairie toothaches from kissin' me

the sigil he had carved into the frozen ground was crude but deliberate, a solemn token to mark the massacre they’d left behind. a large, jagged rock sat as a makeshift headstone, its surface etched with faint scratches—a poor man's memorial, but it was all he could offer.

the act had taken much of the day, his muscles aching and his paws raw from clawing at the unyielding earth. yet, the work felt necessary. for them. for himself. for @Synder.

as twilight fell, the pale moonlight guided him back to the den he’d dug for her—a shallow shelter beneath the jut of an exposed rock face. the air inside was cool and still, her sleeping form curled tight against the chill. he stepped inside, his shadow spilling over her like the night itself.

come on, his voice was low, a gruff murmur as he nudged her with his nose, firm but not ungentle. got somethin’ for you to see. his breath fogged in the cold as he waited for her to stir.

Beneath closed eyes, Synder dreamt; misty visions of running through fields with faceless sisters, the laughter of children unseen, the homely call of cicada's ringing across an open field, the vibrance of summer playing a film behind her lids. It had been a while since she'd fell into a sleep as deep as this one. The last day had taken more out of her than usual. This travelling weighed on her, even if she refused to acknowledge it.

Darkness fell over her, accompanied by the sound of his rough voice. Blackened ears twitched and soon the fluttering of eyelids would follow. She blinked the sleep from her eyes as he nudged her and lifted her head toward the entrance, where his face was seen only by the fog of his breath and the cracks of light seeping through along the sides.

What is it? she murmured, bringing herself to her feet to follow. The confusion of sleep wore off and gave way to curiousity. She peeked up at the stars as they stepped out from the rockface. Moon's glow never brighter than here, where the land had few things to cast shadows.

there wasn't anything for him to say on their way there. however short the walk had been, roan wasn't a man of many words. synder knew this by now, and she didn't prod him for it. she didn't prod him for much, at that, which he was grateful for.

when he reached the crest of the hill, he cleared his throat, stepping out of frame for her to lay eyes on the small memorial he'd built.

it ain't...much. he said, shifting on his paws, however brief, to sit down. the look in her eyes was something that he didn't enjoy. how determined she was to climb head first into that gorge, to keep going when her leg thrummed with pain.

they weren't going back there. but this is what he could muster in such a short time.

They reached the hilltop, where a tall stone lay set in the earth, marked with scratches for each body left behind. A tombstone for the mass grave that laid behind it.

Unnamed, but not forgotten. Not forsaken. Synder stood and simply stared for a long few moments, the rolling clouds shifting across the dark sky, giving way to more moonlight. Eventually what was melancholy became something much calmer.

Are you kidding? She remarks with a breath of a laugh. It's something. More than what they had before.

He didn't have to, not at all. She didn't expect him to. But he had gone out of his way to prepare for them a memorial. Playing humble as if it wasn't the sweetest thing she'd seen a man do. She pulled in close to him as they sat in front of the altar, letting her muzzle drift across the fur of his neck, her breath warm on his skin. ...Thank you, Roan.

you're a good man.

She thought, but didn't say.

are you kidding?

fuck. this is the last time he ought to do something nice, she probably thinks it's—

and then she was against him, churning the knot inside of him, building the same resistance that had once been there, and knocking it down with one smooth breath. she was warm. he hadn't touched her this way, not since he had first stolen her from the woods.

it's...nothin'. he griped, not sure how to proceed with her. she seemed...okay huddled so close to him, breaching that boundary that had gone unspoken. he was not a ladies man by any means, but she made him feel as such.

eyes fluttering to a close, he let out a held breath. feeling a decades worth of stress release from his shoulders, it was different than most women he's had before. different than that blonde he'd taken— it was...soft.

he didn't want to let go.

She pulled back, letting pools of pale gold fall again to the gravestone before them.

It will help them rest. She says softly, a certainty in her words. Perhaps it is to convince herself.

Sweet sentiments meant little to the dead. A grave would not bring them back, or relieve them of their pain; but it would grant them passage beyond the desolate fields their souls were washed out to. She believed this because she needed to, but in her heart of hearts—

She knew the dead were gone the moment the light faded from their eyes, soul and all, if such a thing ever truly existed in the first place; it was snuffed for good when time ran out. True and utter oblivion. Erasure.

Sweet sentiments were for the living. To distract from that reality. Death was a terrifying thing when the cradle of religion fell away.

Synder had long lost hers, and so she was terrified by it. Enough to lie to herself.

A soft exhale followed, her breath forming in the sharp air. ...I want to go far away from here in the morning. Can we do that? She asks without looking up at him.

roan nodded, his dark muzzle dipping once, slow and deliberate. he didn’t press her for more; didn’t ask where she wanted to go or why. he knew the weight of places like this, the way they clawed at the heart and made escape feel like the only option.

we’ll go, he murmured, his voice a low rumble, steady as the earth beneath their paws. when you wake.

he cast a brief glance at the gravestone, his gaze unreadable. the scars of loss marked him as surely as they marked her, though he carried them differently. quieter. tucked deep where even he couldn’t always find them.

his tail flicked, a motion as muted as his words. he wouldn’t pretend to understand her faith, or lack of it. wouldn’t offer her platitudes she wouldn’t believe. but he could give her this. a promise. a place away from here.

rest, he said finally, shifting his stance to guard her in silence. i’ll keep watch.

Synder spared the headstone a last lookover, a small smile touched her lips in that moment, though it had little place here.

She brought herself back to the makeshift shelter, slipping through the entrance and turning herself around to face the outside again; his sentinel figure propped on the other side of the rocks. She wouldn't argue with it, to him it was what men do, they protect. This didn't stop her from leaving space anyways.

You should get some sleep, too. She murmured, not intending to convince him, but just allowing her words to settle in the air.

Before long, she let the weightlessness of sleep lull her to a deep silence.

roan didn’t move from his position, his broad form outlined against the dim light filtering through the rocks. his head dipped slightly, his ears twitching at synder’s words, but no response came immediately.

then, a low grunt. nothing more.

his piercing gaze swept the area, his body still as stone save for the faint rise and fall of his chest. sleep wasn’t for him tonight, not while she rested. this was his role, his duty.

he wouldn’t sleep. not until the sun rose again.