sunset, burning in scarlet.
like the flickering luminance of a forest fire,
deepens the long shadows of dormant trees.

his smoldering eyes look up at the fading of light.
far away, the sun sears its shape into the horizon,
branches reaching into its silhouette like claws-
grasping at its fleeting warmth.

soon, the sky will fill with brilliant stars.
but now, just for now-
the shade consumes all.

she stares at the silhouette
of someone she once loved,
their familiar shape now just
a black mark on the horizon.

people, by nature, are like
oil and water.
shake them all you want.
stir up their emotions.

still, inevitably, they will
separate.

even the brightest flowers will some day fade away,
shedding their petals and withering.

the same is true of him, too.
some day, without vigor, he will be laid to rest.

but, on the ground of that grave, perhaps,
more brilliant flowers will find the beginning of life.

in that way, he won't truly be gone.
he will simply return to the soil.

it isn't as though she lacks feelings.
it isn't as though she's been hurt.

but she knows the way things are.
love is hidden in plain sight.

it exists within all things.
but you'll only find it if you dare look.

enticing, far in the distance.
the deep purple of berry bushes,
their branches drooping,
weighed down by ripe fruit.

her legs ensnared in the brambles.
thorns tear into her skin.
she can't return now, can she?

so she pursues a world she cannot have.
even if it hurts-
even if finding it tears her limb from limb-
she'll face it with a smile.

laugh.
be merry.

the next world fast approaches.

when all that is left is dust,
when the trees are bare of leaves and fruit,
and when the prey animals cease to roam,

there is nothing left to be done.
nothing left but to survive.

she'll simply have to make
a meal of bones.

Her trek across the tundra was harsh, as all were. Climbing the rocky, unforgiving mountains, however, was easily the worst part. The Totoma had never been the most delicate or agile when it came to climbing rocky outcroppings, often finding the edges of cliffs crumbling beneath her hooves.

But to her, it was a challenge all the same as learning to walk- to give up after falling before she reached her goal was accepting death.

Her broken bones reformed thicker, and the chips in her thick scales eventually wore down or broke, like the mountains she scaled on her journey. But still, they protected her well. That was all she could ask of them.

She would never be delicate, nor the swiftest to make the journey. Nor was it one she made it through unscathed. But in the end, she had made it through Solid.

freedom to roam, freedom to breathe.
freedom to hunt.

the grasses around her tickle her nose-
and the sound of mice squeaking tickles her ears.

she's like a fox in the field.

she's free of worries.
she's right where she should be.
and she's happy.

something is wrong.
something, something...

but what?
she's uncertain.

like a white shadow,
her anxiety sweeps over her.

will she ever know what it was?

on the shortest nights of the year,
when the smell of summer is most potent,
the swamp lights up from within.

these are the nights she lives for.

greater in number than a whole herd can count,
the fireflies dance.

like the bright eyes of so many kimeti before her,
and so many after her, too.

the most precious thing in the desert is the water.
the oncoming rumble of thunder is not feared-
it is cheered on.

at the end of the driest season,
mourning all the plants that have shriveled and died,
the sky weeps down precious life.

the fleeting sight of water in the desert.
the few days of the year where the cactus flowers open.
the first snow, that soon melts into the ground.

they are precious because they are rare to behold.
they are beautiful because they fade away.

The buck has never quite been the same since the forest fire which he was caught in when he was younger. He recalls his tribe taking rest for the night in the forest, taking respite from the pelting rain and rumbles of distant thunder in one of the few portions of the forest which was protected enough by the leaves to stay dry.

He doesn’t remember the lightning striking, but he does remember the roar of sudden sound and the sparking of newly lit flames.

Of his tribe, he was lucky. He left with his life- albeit with his flesh horrifically scarred, thanks to his dedication to trying to help anyone remaining out of the fire. Despite his best efforts, many of his closest friends and family... were not so lucky.

His rage still smolders internally- rage that starts at himself, for not being able to help those he lost.

each being is drawn to one another, like a thread.
meetings and partings tangled up.
arguments tearing and fraying fragile bonds.

and looking down on it all, like a spider,
she weaves her own fate's web.