Sleepy Fox Hollow Time moves slow

One question was all that was offered by the silver eagle. Crowfeather did not know how to immediately respond. The older man’s voice lingered in his ears, in his head, in the weight that hung at his chest.

Are you a seer?

Timidity swept through him. Crowfeather fixed his eyes on his own paws, tracing the dirt and lines of the pads. That familiar lump in the back of his throat felt rougher but he did not try to swallow it down. The dark wolf thought only of what it meant to be a seer and whether or not he filled that description.

I- words were difficult to compose. I have dreams- visions. Sometimes the things I dream happen, but not always- not always the way I expect. Crowfeather felt he must have sounded like a loon.