Phoenix Maplewood Cin vhetin

Cin vhetin- literally “white field”; a fresh start or clean slate

The trees were cool in the heat of the day, a thankful cover to Simran’s coat as they walked, underbrush crushed beneath their heavy paws. Twigs cracked, brush pulled and pulled before snapping back into place, and their eyes trailed upwards, to the breaks in the canopy, where they could spy the faint shape of Burc’ya, speckled underwing hiding him from their sight.

The former bounty hunter chuffed, low in their throat, rocking their weight between their toes to steady themselves, before lowering their head down again to begin plodding forward, rolling their shoulders like a plow-horse, without all the chewing at the bit. A breeze wafted hot air into their face, and Simran raised their head slightly to avoid it, snorting and shaking their great head, before plowing on through the bush.

Even if their mind was a million miles away, gears turning on the comings and goings of white hot rage and burning, choking grief, the body plodded on.