Note: Text in sketch is rough. The content below shows revision and my be revised again once moving to the painting stage.
Into the Wind
Free from the city of man, he moves with heavy deliberate motion into the wasteland where the wind has scattered his kinsfolk. He bears not only her weight and that of the fallen, but the weight of the kinfolks future. Never before had one of their kind possessed thoughts of being a warrior, a defender of the tribe. within his body he now felt such a spirit grow, even as his body was slowly transforming to a vessel that would feel and taste and hear, beyond the realm of simply knowing and communicating mind to mind. He now had a voice, or the bare beginnings that let him sob for the fallen and utter vows into the wind that the kinfolk would never again meet rage and anger open-handily, but defend their natural rights of sentient beings to exist, live and flourish peacefully.
The time of slaughter would be the memory instilling the steel of resolve guiding them into a future worth having.
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Upon the mesa he laid her traumatized form, her mind still numb from the horrors, those voices still gnawing at her core.
Quietly he stood staring over the landscape while the winds' soothing whispers caressed the maddening images into dark recesses of her mind, until a flick of who she once was begun to reemerge and acknowledge the sun.
