The path we take is worn with time, not the footprints of recent journey. Bugs click with a sound of urgency, wanting to be heard among others before the world is silent and dark, before the waning sunlight is lost in the horizen's wide territory. The tangle of tree roots and patches of tall grass long to hear voices until-- "Wonder what the last time is since anybody's been here," says Colt. My older brother. "Years, probably. It's kind of nice though; like a secret world. This would be a nice place to make a little hideout," I say, bending down to examine a fresh-looking bright blue flower.
"Yeah. It would be. All of this is forgotten by now, no doubt." He walks up behind me, settling on an interesting plant himself, adorned with a spiral of light yellow petals, almost white, ascending to the center of the plant, ending in a point. Leaves traced with dark purple curl around the dirt surrounding it. Beautiful.
"Pretty," I comment. "What time do you think it is?" Colt looks up at the golden sky and sinking sun before us, also at the pale blue sky miles behind us.
"About seven thirty. We have plenty of time, us poor, wandering souls," he jokes.
