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The Bear
The Bear
Year of the Roses
Floral Season
The Highlands
Altsas
Kyan
HER SHALLOW BREATHING is the first thing I hear when I wake up. I blink my eyes trying to get rid of the blurs until my vision clears and the vivid scene of the clearing is what I see. I crawl out trying as much as possible not to disturb her, once out of the pathetic excuse for a tent I built (which I'm now ashamed off after seeing it in morning light) I stretch and yawn. My eyes dart to the charcoals and dead embers on the ground — the remains of the fire.
The whole forest is awake; the beautiful songs of birds fills the air like a band of musicians.
My stomach growls and I remember the berrie
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