curbside confessions

It wouldn't be long before the pair came upon the hole he had scratched out for the woman, but behind them he had left an unclear path. A bend from his own den, and off the trodden trails of the redwoods would be her small den, the dirt fresh and laying cleanly upon the mouth which was wedged between two great, red roots. Here the trunks were so thick and close to one another that both the den and the trails were difficult to find. His head turns a mild angle, eyeing the woman before turning away and widening the mouth of the den which had contracted in the moist, mild weather. He digs and he sets himself upon hardening the loose soil between spread, calloused toes. should be comfortable enough. he mutters, half to Laxago and half to himself as his wiry body slowly sinks further into the den; spread feet setting the dirt and black nose widening and searching for any discrepancies upon the dirt walls. should be warm enough, it's out of the way of the northern winds. he states, finally pulling away from the den; a somewhat tight fit for the man but a snug dwelling for the woman.