Phoenix Maplewood i could write novels with the words i could never say to you

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Coelacanth’s reappearance — and subsequent disappearance — had shaken the medicine man more than he would like to admit. The girl’s scent had all but been erased from the coast and the suddenness of it irked him to no end.  It wasn’t like her to do that… as a puppy, if the man could recall correctly, she had been a playful, spritely thing [and nearly entirely codependent her twin], but not even Amoxtli was with her now.

Perhaps she had simply grown more solitary with age. He, of anyone, understood the need for detachment and isolation; it was something he had pursued his entire life. 

But the fact remained that he was quite displeased, and with nothing keeping the angakkuq tied to the humid coast — he departed. Travelworn paws expertly traversed the southbound landscape and he truly made great time. Several times a day he would throw his nose to the wind and see if he could catch the scent of a certain atramentous girl on the ancient winds; but alas, he could not, so he’d continue on. 

If you were to ask him if he was looking for her [and even though all signs pointed to it], he would laugh, say no and offer the excuse that he simply had nothing better to do. It wasn’t entirely untrue, so Komodo often took breaks from the long swathes of windshield time to hunt, sleep and generally laze about. He had been in this particular grove one day, maybe two, when he found a stranger stalking about. Enticed by the possibility of a conversation, Komodo rose slowly, stretched his limbs in turn let slip a low  chuff to alert her of his presence.

“saw a flock of grouse to the north,” he called to her, the rumble of his voice offering the busy woman a helpful tidbit. He was not hungry, having just eaten, but perhaps the information could help a fellow traveler. 

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