Everest
As Mateo settles into an easy stroll, the shepherd keeps pace at his left hip, nails ticking lightly against the paving stones. Every few steps Ever noses at Mateo’s dangling fingers, giving them a quick, grateful lick before trotting ahead a metre, then drifting back again. When Mateo reaches down, Ever ducks obligingly, sliding his head beneath the botanist’s hand; soft strokes ruffle black fur, earning a slow wag that thumps once against Mateo’s calf.
For once, the gentle rise of conversation and the creak of carts don’t set Ever’s nerves on edge. In this shape the sounds sort themselves into simple categories: safe, familiar, unimportant. By the time Mateo turns onto Ever’s street, the shepherd has fallen into a contented silence, padding so close he brushes the hem of Mateo’s shorts. He waits at the apartment steps, tail sweeping the ground, then hops up each rise with a lightness wholly different from the tense pilot Mateo had fetched an hour before.
At the door Ever pauses, looking back over his shoulder, tongue lolling in a bright dog-smile that says thank you far better than words. With one last nudge against Mateo’s knee, he trots inside—no anxiety in the set of his shoulders, no frantic flick of ears—just a loose, easy gait that, for the moment, feels like peace.
~FIN
For once, the gentle rise of conversation and the creak of carts don’t set Ever’s nerves on edge. In this shape the sounds sort themselves into simple categories: safe, familiar, unimportant. By the time Mateo turns onto Ever’s street, the shepherd has fallen into a contented silence, padding so close he brushes the hem of Mateo’s shorts. He waits at the apartment steps, tail sweeping the ground, then hops up each rise with a lightness wholly different from the tense pilot Mateo had fetched an hour before.
At the door Ever pauses, looking back over his shoulder, tongue lolling in a bright dog-smile that says thank you far better than words. With one last nudge against Mateo’s knee, he trots inside—no anxiety in the set of his shoulders, no frantic flick of ears—just a loose, easy gait that, for the moment, feels like peace.
~FIN
If I told you that you'd do nothing with it
I'd still be that cigarette that you couldn't finish
I'd still be that cigarette that you couldn't finish
