there comes a male, now, heavy on her trail. he is overeager, wanting, young; in the night she hears his yipping calls. in daylight, she finds him on the horizon, a slinking silhouette, a flash of movement. even amongst the ruin of the quakes her season will come, she knows, as does he. but it is a while yet until it comes, and until then (and perhaps even during) she wants no part of him. he knows this just as clearly as she, and so he remains only a shadow. for now, greyjay allows it.
it has been a day since she's seen him last, and the night that ebbs now from the sky has been silent. she wonders, but only that. worry, or concern can not be mustered for a shadow, of which there will surely come more. greyjay prowls, low and hungry and searching, along the lakeshore. each scent of decay is investigated, recently turned-over earth is dug up again, and her path often doubles back, or seems to wander aimlessly for a time. in this manner does she move ever northward, toward mountains that reach desperately for the slate-grey sky.
it has been a day since she's seen him last, and the night that ebbs now from the sky has been silent. she wonders, but only that. worry, or concern can not be mustered for a shadow, of which there will surely come more. greyjay prowls, low and hungry and searching, along the lakeshore. each scent of decay is investigated, recently turned-over earth is dug up again, and her path often doubles back, or seems to wander aimlessly for a time. in this manner does she move ever northward, toward mountains that reach desperately for the slate-grey sky.
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