Word Count » 387 So sorry for the wait.
The roots extended their scrawny, sinister fingers over the gold, obscuring and harboring the delicate prize. They escalated smoothly and accurately, greedy over their hidden wonders and flourishing vegetation. Citlali cut through the accentuated bark and neatly layered the pieces he had removed rather unsparingly. Each root was as thick as rope and came away after a few sharp slashes, revealing yet another spindly sheet. Green dappled the russet webbing and the willowy strands of small ferns clung and frolicked along the boy’s ginger-white arms as he dug towards the core. His hands began to ache after multiple trials of removal, somewhat similar to the productive activity of weaving.
A short break caused his golden-tanned ears to perk and his heart to take off like a frightened deer. The sounds quieted immediately and Citlali dismissed the disturbance as perhaps a youthful hare caught in the muck. He slowed his pace on clearing the tree’s fingers, keeping the corner of his flat, passive olive gaze intent on the once-comforting shadows. After another moment of quiet, the boy became engrossed once more. His blade flashed skillfully, reflecting on a tree and catching Citlali’s attention. Suddenly, there was woman there. The Kimaris jumped up unnaturally fast and slipped behind the trunk he had taken so much care in destroying. Such rapid movement caused him to rake a gash along the bark.
He could feel his breath billowing onto the tree and snaking off to the other side. It came out in quick pants, shaky but tractable. What did she want with him? The fact that the coyote-boy had not heard the girl comeing unnerved him extremely. A maiden who crept around the woods silently had to be searching for something.
There was no movement or sound from the other side of Citlali’s broad hiding spot. The moment of harmony had allowed the boy to catch the girl’s scent. It was unfamiliar like most fragrances outside of Salsola and Anathema. The flutter and toss of the river was the only thing to be heard for the moment. Off-white fingers clenched the glistening knife, edged with dirt yet still menacing. He had no intention of using it, as he would rather flee than fight, but wanted to look somewhat assuring, even to himself. His heart was still pounded electricity through his veins.
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