Vulptalk

There were times in Suguri's life when speed was a necessity. Bullets, for example, did not have a tendency to hang around while you leisurely sauntered out of the way; An impending crisis did not allow you the time to drink your last sip of tea and nibble a granola bar before you set out.

It was a Monday, although Mondays had ceased to mean anything for either of them. Living so long threw time into a strange relief. There was the past, which stretched out so far that it could only be comprehended a little at a time; the future, potentially limitless; and the present, vivid and delightful in the moment. There was no place for Mondays in a timeline like that.

Two figures wander under the shade of evergreen trees, streaks of silver and gold cast in silhouette by the slowly rising sun. The forest is awakening gradually as the light of the dawn brushes across its face; around them there is the shuffle of the beasts and the birds falling into the rhythm of the day.