Lost Creek Hollow sunrise, parabellum.

the sun appeared that day.

veran welcomed it in full. he had found himself a clearing near one of the many winding turns in the river — and there a stone.

he had no shame in the way he sprawled himself out on top of it. his eyes dared to close and before he knew it he snored softly in sleep. a paw twitched here and there.

in his dreams, he frog hunted with others in a swampier place than here.

The wolf Veran had been a quiet member of their peaceful pack. Crowfeather had taken no issue with the man’s modesty. While his curiosity had picked at him, he hadn’t found the opportunity to speak with the healer on his own. Patience had played its part.

When the sun revealed itself and warmed the winterworn lands, the tripod had gathered a particularly plump fish and carried it to find Veran. When he happened upon the other man, he found him sleeping peacefully in the golden rays of sunlight.

Worried that he might interrupt a good rest, Crowfeather placed the fish nearby and made himself busy in the holly brush a few paces away.