Meadowlark Prairie i'm getting older

to qiao’s surprise, the dove became quiet. the wind picked up and carried with it notes of the sea, of distant birdsong, of the absurd warble of a turkey.

but no song of her sisters - no nimble thread of fate to snatch between the weaving of reality’s beam.

in that moment, qiao heard the rumbling of the girl’s stomach. should have eaten. qiao informed her, rising from her crouch to carefully thread the greenbrier through each skull socket. bah, useless thing. i think i should go east. qiao picked up the peltskin and between gritted teeth offered it to blueberry. shake this, child — then throw it to the ground.