Alone

Basilisk did not know how to do what he wished to. So he would skirt carefully around it. Trying to build something that would last longer than… their carnal desires. The attraction that was becoming so familiar to them. He spent the day in contemplation, giving his tasks the barest concentration they needed to get them done. Training, patrols, and chasing out a nest of coyotes. 


At last, the afternoon came and his companion told him where to find the little slave. He trotted into the painting den and found her there, practicing letters. He didn't interrupt, instead he took a seat a few paces behind her. Watching her work in silence. The light stroke of the letters gentle in her little golden paw.