The next few weeks pass quickly,
     as we build a new routine.
I search and scour for firewood,
     while she prepares cuisine.
At night I sleep out under stars,
     we take turns keeping sentry.
A pair well matched, as if our skills,
     designed so complementary.

The dead don't seem to like it here,
     we've hardly seen a dozen.
Mayhap the graveyard scares them off,
     filled with undead's cousin.
In truth apart from crumbling towers,
     that nighttime's sleep doth break.
The atmosphere is quite serene,
     a peace at city's wake.

The wildlife is plenty,
     and it makes for luscious meal.
With scents that travel 'cross the land,
     and tastes of the surreal.
Yolanda leaves at dawn each morn,
     and hunts with makeshift bow.
Apparently a replica,
     of one from years ago.

I asked her if she'd mentor me,
     in ways of our survival.
She laughed, of course, out loud and hard,
     I'll never be her rival.
With that, I'm fine, she knows what's best,
     for years she's walked these lands.
Observing mother nature's work,
     and crafting with her hands.

Her laughter leaves a hidden sting,
     that burrows in my heart.
And tells of my ineptitude,
     of failure's counterpart.
She'll never trust her life to me,
     she'll always be on guard.
Watching over every move,
     with the lowest of regard.

She thinks I still retain my key,
     I dread the consequence.
Each time we talk, on high alert,
     my body stiff and tense.
She never asked me outright,
     so so far I didn't lie.
But guilt is growing tumorous,
     as time is slipping by.

I watch her tend the fire,
     as she rakes the glowing coals.
Another early morning,
     where all light, the blaze, controls.
The shadows dance across her face,
     a muted, metric, waltz.
Betraying age and beauty,
     with assumptions clearly false.

She spots my gaze and flashes grin,
     her cheerful countenance.
As breakfast she prepares for our,
     continued sustenance.
The bread all ready cooling now,
     sings sweetly to my nose.
Brings fresh relief to senses,
     and enhances my repose.

The dawning sun peaks through the clouds,
     and blooms from red to yellow.
The lights cascades across the earth,
     my face; the drifting fellow.
Oh how I wish the light,
     illuminating me could speak.
Of all events it witnessed,
     the abnormal, strange, oblique.

How it must have seen my past,
     the tales it could recount.
Of how I came to be here,
     of my quest so paramount.
Despite the lure of answers,
     and the promise we would talk.
Her mind has clearly altered path,
     when faced with choice's fork.

Hence our lives are frozen,
     each day repeats a new.
Myself too scared of consequence,
     to flee from deja vu.
And she with fears of different form,
     same master both they serve.
The arcs, our paths, convergent curve,
     a balance we observe.

"Come on" she says, hoisting pack,
     "Today you get your wish."
And as she turns her hair responds to jerk,
     with playful swish.
Could it be that moment close,
     ambivalence prevailing.
The storm my ship is bound for,
     the purpose of my sailing.

With nod of head she gestures quick,
     and speaks not one more word.
Whilst deeper to the graveyard's heart.
     we journey undeterred.
Yet this heart can beat no longer,
     machines to rust condemned.
Unaware, without a care,
     their lives have reached their end.

Body after broken body,
     discarded by their gods.
Then thousand I would guess or more,
     and stake against the odds.
Humanity revoked their trust,
     perhaps they saw some sense.
Which led to android genocide,
     to bolster their defence.

In ways I feel happy,
     a wave of satisfaction.
That even though I wasn't there,
     and avoided this destruction,
even though an era passed,
     where I did not partake,
My hunch, my gut, was proven true.
     they realised their mistake.

Did the androids even realise,
     the plan to extradite?
Did they meet it with resistance?
     Did they rise against and fight?
The bullet holes suggest it so,
     yet pervasive, they are not.
Confined to isolated groups,
     where metal came to rot.

We reach a simple clearing,
     an entryway to wooded land.
Where manmade meets with nature,
     like a line drawn in the sand.
Underfoot the leaves doth crunch,
     like the shells of empty eggs.
A finger shoots to clasp her lips,
     and quiet of me begs.

We tiptoe deeper, keeping close,
     my eyes are wide, alert.
Our shoes leave prints as clear as day,
     in damp and moistened dirt.
She readies bow and arrow pulls,
     from woven leather quiver.
As chilling early morning breeze,
     besets in spine a shiver.

Yolanda deftly draws the bow,
     no need for her too look,
Her digits acting nimbly,
     as around the string they hook.
I hear the stretch of limbs,
     not in pain, but more in dare.
As if the bow is willing her,
     to loose without a care.

In tree ahead I see the bird,
     its plumage shimmers gold.
Consuming my attention, a
     rare beauty to behold.
I jolt when arrow hits its mark.
     distracted from our task.
Yolanda's skills are boundless,
     well she hides behind her mask.

"Your turn" she says and hands me bow,
     "Oh no!" my curt reply.
"I don't know where to start"
     "Don't you even want to try?"
I gesture yes, but drenched in no,
     "I won't be any good."
She scoffs and hurls a rock at trunk,
     that's deep inside the wood.

Crack! The echo hurtles forth,
     as if to make its rounds.
A freight express from Timbuktu,
     transporting raucous sounds.
In instant quick the sky is full,
     a hidden population.
A dozen, twenty, thirty birds,
     without a destination.

She looses bolt, it carries true,
     and prey begins descent.
Before the first has reached the ground,
     a second arrow's spent.
Three in total, three in all,
     too fast to quite believe.
"I suggest you start with one."
     she says, awarding no reprieve.

She offers me the bow again,
     and this time I accept.
But cannot shake the feeling,
     that I'm hopelessly inept.
Before I know what's happening,
     I'm cradled by her arms.
My heart begins to pulse at once,
     responding to alarms.

She holds my hands, corrects my form,
     and points at target near.
The populous has since returned,
     exhausted by their fear.
I pull as hard as limbs allow,
     she quickly eases tension.
All without a single word,
     as death hangs in suspension.

I raise the flight to meet my cheek,
     she motions, 'fire when ready'.
My muscles shake, as tendons quake,
     my nerves at best unsteady.
She steps away, I loose the bolt,
     it strikes its target fair.
And sure I am I see the path,
     it made hang in the air.

We gather spoils, she pats my back,
     "Not bad," she rates my form.
And traipses out of darkened wood,
     along her track of norm.
Around the fire we seat ourselves,
     as star rolls out of bed.
I want to say so much to her,
     but one remains unsaid.

"Thank you", words that sound so trite,
     tired and without meaning.
Yet, simple words oft met the best,
     and seldom found demeaning.
She smiles a simple knowing smile,
     I read as ill at ease.
And wish I could unlock her thoughts,
     if one possessed the keys.

Who knows where we will venture now,
     and where we'll call our home.
But together we can face it all,
     this world now monochrome.
I stare into the future,
     with no past to reminisce.
And smile in sweet surprise,
     as on my cheek she plants a kiss.

And in this perfect moment,
     in the warming of the sky.
Attention tugs my consciousness,
     from the corner of my eye.
Dragged away, I glance aside,
     ignoring scores of dead.
The eyes of twin Alisha,
     come to life, a ruby red.