Sunset Valley dreams

the painted man.

movement nearby alerts her attention, and she glances over toward him, whites of her indigo eyes flashing as she does so. he's speaking to himself; little wonder, the madman.

he'd been her company in. . .the other place, and she'd found him weak and ineffectual. and strange.

she has no patience for him now.

one breath in, two, and then she lifts herself, slowly, to her paws. every muscle burns; every joint creaks. but she does, eventually, stand aloft, and the wind buffets her pelt as she gazes over the sloping horizon, a wistful sigh escaping her lungs.

she turns, and begins to go—south? she wonders, trying to gauge the sun.