Big Salmon Lake 'cause it's home, but it's gone

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The mid-day sun is warm upon the starlight imperial’s night spilled cape as it’s harsh but never the less bright rays reach down to touch upon all that it can. The druid is not a beast that minds the day but his favorite time is dusk when the sun finishes it’s descent into the horizon and night begins to swallow the sky whole as it turns opaque except for the break of starlight as they litter the velveteen dark; but he thinks that of course dusk and night would be his favorite times: he is an aspiring astronomer and without them he would be without a honing skill. The empyrean lingers close to the lake, standing partially upon it’s bank and partially with his front paws in it’s shallows. He has just finished lapping at the water, droplets still falling freely from his chin as his head rises, ears perk and alert atop his skull at the sound of footfalls. A glimpse over svelte shoulder puts name and a slight sense of familiarity to the stalwart figure that approaches. Rannoch. Leader of their juvenile gang. Salmon pink tongue swipes across his jowls to catch the last droplets from his chin before they, too, can give into gravity and splash upon the pelage of his chest. “Rannoch,” The druid greets the other male with a bow of his crown in acknowledgement of the older boy’s position among their not entirely established hierarchy.

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