<font color=7f1715>*you painted me in pastel</font> [any]

Home. She�d been away for nearly two months, the whole of the summer, and she had never been happier to dirty her paws in the murky swamp. Or to watch them come clean again in the creek that ran through her forest. And it was her forest. Without her it was gloomier, and without it she could not be content. She had always been here: it was her birthplace. Her parents, now dead in the meteor, raised her within the comfort of these trees. It was the only family she had left.

She met Coza here, too, and she missed his easy company, his broken speech. Her lavender eyes darkened in remorse. She felt guilty that Coszcotl had suffered so much for so little in return; she felt guilty that she couldn�t repay her debt. One day, more than likely out of necessity than any sense of honor, she would square up their dealings. Just not today. It might be that he expected nothing of her at all, but she wasn�t prepared to take the risk. For now, she would avoid him. A life was a large sum to owe.

The water was warm, as it always was in the summer, and reserved; the Moladion heat had sapped its resources. She lay down in the shallow water, greeting it like an old friend, and then stood, dripping, looking around. It was in this very clearing she�d met Coszcotl, and he had defended her without reason or reward. Though they had both lived, the energy from that encounter was all around her. It had been a stressful and powerful event. Maybe it would never leave this place.

It was no great task for her to get lost in thought. The water ran deep, as they say, and without caution, she could easily sink so deep that the sun grew dim. But she was familiar with the weight of regret, and had a great loathing for the sensation. So she gave her cinnamon coat a shake and took off at a trot, thinking to catch an early dinner in the nearby swamp and rid herself of the gloom.

they sing in clever tongues

oh, how my knees go weak

to be the one;

H U S H

five ** ~~soul~~ ** ~~home~~ **

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