For Laxago

It was spring again. The snow lingered yet in small white clumps, but the grasses were growing back and the trees were becoming green again. Creatures that had left to escape the cold were returning, plump and with new young. As I slipped past a small elk herd I couldn't help but think of what Laxago had said in the past. That perhaps, once she recovered that we would attempt a family again. Our first children could not understand us and in result they chose difficult lives. But she was still recovering and I was still doing what I could to take care of the poor girl. She could not know how much better she seemed now. Her pelt completely groomed, all the mats and knotts and stains gone from months of effort on my part. In the spring sunlight her white fur was immaculate. Purer than snow its self. In my jaws I carried a fat partridge. Knowing Laxago had a strong preference for fowl I had spent the better part of the morning searching for one of her favorite meals. The weight of the fat bird caused my head to dip left the slightest bit, causing my toothsome smile to appear even more awry. I hoped the girl was still asleep in the dugout we had made near the stream. He had traveled long the day before, and though our feet had toughened with our wandering, the day had been long and the girl had been drawn into a deep sleep. I hoped that she would still be resting as I approached.