the seasons don't fear the reaper.

Barrett · 05-23-2011, 03:08 AM

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Just shy of a year had passed, but Barrett was profoundly struck by how much things seemed the same. Things had changed, of course--he'd gotten a little older, a little stronger; a little more learnt, though maybe no more wise. Nova Scotia had changed, too--great tracts of forest had been leveled, the trees scattered like toothpicks by reckless currents of snow; twice he stumbled upon lands that--as far as he could remember--had once been neutral, though now were freshly marked.

Such occurrences were a natural part of the ebb and flow of life, however, and he found himself more preoccupied with the faint perfume of freshly blossoming wildflowers, the tickle of pollen in his nose, the springy crunch of the grass beneath his feet, and the soft rustling of his bag as he walked. These, too, were normal things, but for the time they somehow seemed more significant.

With startling regularity a jarring thought would rouse him from this dazed reverie and just as swiftly he'd battle it back. For every one thing he'd accomplished in the week past, there were ten more waiting to be done. But to dwell now would serve no purpose, and in any case a clear mind seemed requisite for what was to come. Her scent was growing stronger now; at last he spotted her in a small clearing ahead. For the first time in a long time, he didn't have anything pre-rehearsed queued up in his head.

"Savina," he called gently, his tone a full octave lower than she may have remembered it. His ears fell back and the fur on his belly kissed the earth, but his tail swung optimistically behind him.

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