Sunlight streamed through the tufts of rainclouds only for a fleeting second before it vanished from sight to leave the pallid creature wandering without a direction. The rain had come down in small sessions, pouring here and there before it drizzled off into something lighter and yet more constant. The wolfdog allowed his light-colored gaze to move upwards along the ridge in hopes that he could find some form of temporary shelter for the evening, if not until the next morning. The Pharaoh had been out of luck in everything he had sought up until that point.
Rain had been a blessing to the desert-dweller when he had been younger. Ankh had known nothing but love for the signs of heavy clouds and the distant roll of thunder that swept across the lands, because it had promised life. The Pharaoh did not know what this water promised. He knew that the temperature had dropped drastically, and his short pelt offered little to no help during the frigid nights. Ankh was not entirely doltish, however. The pallid-furred male knew that his life would come to an end if he continued on the path he was going down. With the morning would come a promise of a modicum of sunlight, and he could rely on this to hunt. If he could carry his own against something with a larger pelt, he could begin construction of a den that would hold potential.
Until that time, Ankh was stuck in a cold drizzle that had seeped through his thin coat and was freezing him to the very core of his being. With a violent shiver, the wolfdog jumped from the ground onto the surface of the ridge and began to climb until he could no longer climb. Once to this point, the pale Pharaoh sought the smallest form of shelter for the coming evening, and he prayed to his Gods that the rain would not continue on through the night.