Rose Thorn’s Revival
The boulder was pushed just enough to squeeze past, fur grazing against scratchy bumps. Paws softly landed, remaining quiet yet knowing its naivety. If something was in here, it’s long gone. She nuzzles He’s nape, celebrating the moving of the rock. The storm last night swept bark between the tight squeeze, allowing for a rare leverage to open this mysterious spot.
He stared into the sparsely lit cave, latching onto the little light from outside’s horizon. A line of warm yellow hit the floor and traveled to the wall. Cracks in the ceiling and walls seeped more light. He walked further; the damp floor raising his fur in annoyance. She followed, keeping nose alert. She rubbed him with the side of her head before padding forward. Throwing her head up, She jogged to the string of light that hit the wall, sitting beside its brightness. Her vision zoned, noticing a shadowing difference. An indent laid within the wall. She looked at him, tongue flopped out. While the hole was relatively spaced, She believed He’s narrow snout was better fit. He rolled his head, holding back his nerves of what could rest between. But she wanted what she did, so He complied. Reaching in, he smelled around.
OUCH! He jumped back, huffing and shaking his head. Something sharp stayed resting in there. She jumped with him, lowering her body in confusion. She ran over, eyeing it and jokingly growling. She gave it a try, being extra careful. Her nose touched softness, guiding her mouth to carefully grab it. It gave a dead aroma. She carefully pulled it out before spitting it to the ground. Dark petals flowed down, its life withered yet not to dust.
He sniffed it annoyed before looking at She’s glee to have grabbed it without harm. A rose. A dead rose. Its thorns were still sharp as ever. She followed her nose around the dewy floor, but found nothing else hiding. The light crept in further, lightening He’s grey. While He continued staring at the flower, she snuck behind him to follow the broadening light to the right wall. Yellow grass was piled in batches. She stepped closer; white peek out. She slowed her approach, head slithering. She sniffed, her nose hitting cold bone. She backed up, looking around. Something had lived in here...but no longer.
He chimed into the hunt, looking through the straw-like grass on the other side. Four batches on the left; two on the right. All had at least one set of bones. Some had two skulls nuzzled together. Shuffling through, it was noticeable there was enough for a skeleton. They’ve never seen a full one before, but eerie intuition felt these were brethren. One’s size reminded them of a coyote, but they sensed otherwise. She bumped He’s side, tail no longer wagging. Their warm and cool palette fur soothed each other. This wasn’t just a sealed cave, this was a tomb, and likely not on purpose.
She traveled back to the right wall, noticing marks on the wall. There too were curving lines, but nothing discernable. She tilted her head, her nose leading her to a single tally. It was spaced by a head before two tallies were etched in. Spaced. Three. Spaced. All the way to eight, reaching to the halfway point of the wall, above bedding that held the first discovered bones. Tally group eight was the lightest indent. How many stories did these marks tell? How many were lost? Why is their last story a dead rose and pack?
She perked up; giving a little hop. He watched, slightly offended by her pep. She wagged, circling around before lowering herself while sticking her butt up. It was a roomy atmosphere, with space to hold at least twenty members. All but a dream. It was She and He; that’s who it's been for a while. She looked up and spun, barking at the light shining above. She galloped beside the bedding. A place ready to become a home again. After so much travel, they were tired. They wanted a pack, but only newly had their been a sign. But could they overlook the danger of another rock crashing in? Would these bones haunt the novel stories hoping to be born?
She ran to the disgruntled He, circling the rose. She pushed it closer, causing another pedal to wilt off. She looked around with a smile in her eyes. She nodded, waiting for him to return the gesture. He huffed, circling. He looked at the flawed entrance, the grave beddings, the spiderwebbed corners. He looked at her, annoyed yet unable to keep his stare off.
He couldn’t say no to She.
And so it was: She and He. Generation nine of Rose Thorn.
Spring 
Day Weather: 
