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At Rest (lit. rp)Brynmore
Brynmore paused at the edge of the thick tree line, ears attentive, listening for any danger. He had brought his new mate, Rosalie, all this way to Blackwood. It wouldn’t do to lose her to some bullish stag or starving wolf. His coat was sopping wet from their recent crossing of the Red River, dripping onto the already soaked ground. They stood at the edge of a small meadow. Pussy willow’s, white pines, and blue pines scattered throughout the meadow, snow melting off their branches with new growth pushing through to the sun. Fallen logs stood against the low snow, . The Red River glistened in the hazy sun, the constant movement dancing in the sun. Water overflowed the banks, branching off into the brown grass, flowing over the last remaining snow and ice that clung stubbornly to the ground. Shoots of green thistles and ferns were springing up from under the brown leaf litter, and white snowdrop flowers dotted the meadow.
Huffing, he turned to look at the slight doe
SolaceShe never slept well in the dark,
not without the children of the sun and moon
to guide her weary lids home.
Guided by the aftermath, she was always two steps behind.
What did the world look like to the girl who had been through it all?
Braved the heaviest of storms,
yet skipping over cracks in the pavement.
They said her eyes were the wisps of clouds before the storm.
To him they were reflections of pages overlooked.
She said it was like she lived the life of someone she had never met.
Laid out to dry, yesterdays news.
He knew her as the girl who was built to never collapse.
He wished he was too.
He loved her more than words could say, and yet her pain was such,
that at times, he feared she wouldn’t make it.
But on nights like these, even when it threatened to consume her,
he became convinced that somehow she would.
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