They linger, while I (with all the social grace of a tumble weed) waver between wandering off in the opposite direction or (the more unsettling notion) strike a (possibly fruitless, unappreciated) conversation. Possibilities wobble down from the ledge of encouragement. But my subconscious remains uninspired, she yawns and eyes them lazily; offering nothing to aid or deter me. Two toned temples cave while I grind through more mouthfuls of that sweet northern wheat. The cool, evening breeze nudges the high rise of my tail and hindquarters. By the time my jaws had worked that bit of grassy paste down the back of my throat and consumed a second mouthful…a conclusion had been reached. Slowly, I turn in their direction with lazy (seemingly uncaring) steps. Internally, a bargain had been struck.

If they remained long enough for me to wander up then I would approach.

If not....

I toy with my mind, gambling away those spurts of courage on the assumption that they’d surely move on long before my arrival.

Ears tilt, rotating in their bedded swivel. Constantly aware, habitually wary.  All around, there is the constant hum of crickets and the sharp voice of frog’s. They string together a harmony; a wordlessly, comforting melody. Occasionally, the wind brought out the bark of a fox or the faint rustle of a grubby possum. As I snail my way over mounds of abundant green…here comes the whisper of their murmuring. Those distant outlines begin to solidify, strengthening and simultaneously weakening my gamble. Nostrils flare, perplexed…I drink, aiming to pluck their scent.

Surprise unfurls moments later, brightening my expression. Noah?

Intrigue is like the wings of a butterfly, those velvet arms flutter with warm, recognizable fondness. Narrowed eyes settle on the larger, boxier frame of said two. Even before scanning for reassurance...my mind has already fabricated recognition. Though none had been there moments ago. There is no mistaken him. Whatever whispers of doubt remain, they vanquish beneath the assertive quickening of my pulse. A soft, quivering utterance flutters in the back of my throat; his namesake unfurls, climbing into the wind. Stained lips spread into a beam, while these irises reach with clinging fingers, "Noah!" Mini me bolts awake from her dozy, lazing state -- wide eyes fix themselves upon the duo with re-energized interest. These patchwork, twiggy legs respond to the whim of my jittery pulse. Pinions unhinge playfully, drifting a few inches from their sheath as I dance into a light, naive jog.