Lion Head Mesa dust

The quiet came like a creeping in her soul as her breathe became more and more shallow. She listened carefully and Slate did not know what she could do but comfort the dying woman. The golden female who had brought her here stayed, something that Slate had not expected. But she was glad she did. They waited in silence together, moments that felt like forever, but in reality were nothing but minutes. Slate lay in silence and listened to the silence that came.

The chest stopped moving, she could no longer feel or hear her breathe and she waited a few moments longer before she rose and with her nose she checked her pulse. Gone.

It was over.

She turned to the golden female now, and saw she was crying. Slate had spent so much time occupied by nothing and no one but herself. She had never been in a pack or part of anything but a short family that she soon left to set out on her own, socialization was not something she was used to and seeing the female cry made her realize how sad it all was. But this was also her job, her calling. She could not weep like the other, for it was not her place to do so.

She stepped closer to the living female, her anger almost forgotten at the very moment. She was at loss for words. She wanted to comfort her, wanted to tell her it was okay, that the dead were okay, she didn't even know her name but they had been through this together now, they were closer than she had ever been with another living being. Slate's gaze turned downward as she had no words for what she felt. She began packing up her things in her pouch and collected it again.

She turned to look at the golden one who likely had other things to attend to, a queen to report to, a dead to bury. Slate's eyes could not become tearful though her chest was heavy as stone.

Filled with sorrow and anger she took her leave.