the soft chorus of cricket song filled the air, fireflies blinking over the long grass. atlas wiped a thin sheen of sweat from his brow as he set aside his pitchfork. it was dark out now, the world quiet now that all the creatures had gone to sleep for the night. he'd lived in the city at one point, but it was loud. his secluded estate was much better. he could do what he liked, and he was mostly out of danger with the war going on. all of his help had been hand-picked. they were good people. he liked that about them.

atlas walked back toward the house, leaving his muddy boots out on the steps and changing into his slippers. he'd been working all day, and his hands were scraped up from the thorny rose vines he'd dealt with around noon. he couldn't wait to bathe. he glanced back out the window again with a sigh. xoza was beautiful. it was a shame about the war. he'd never disliked humans, but that was the new trend- however unfortunate it may be.