Larksong Grotto i. courage and bird-song

Courage was something many things could claim, but few could truly possess. The ability to strike off on one’s own, leaving their family behind in search of greater horizons, or to hop up to the sleeping form of a predator and peck one of his fluffy ears, curiosity mitigating reason. The only thing that led the animal it had been interested in to know of its presence was the tiny downy feathers it had shed in its escape from his den. The feathers caught the light of the pale new-growth sun as it shone over the forest’s canopy, dappling it in shadows.


Fallen Sun stirred from silent slumber as the fleeting form of a spotted brown bird darted from the entrance, a crack in the rock found big enough to slip within and out of the cold, but small enough that anything larger than him would have trouble fitting itself within. This den was a temporary thing, as the wandering spirit could not stay in one place for very long. It was cold and made of stone, with a few scratches on the surfaces from some long-ago traveler that had sheltered within its unassuming embrace. 


His leg hurt to put weight on, and his fear-scent grew strong for a moment. The heart within the brown-pelted wolf stilled as he replayed the events of the night prior. Late under the moon’s light, the canine had misjudged his step and fallen into a forest, unlike the stark one he had been traveling through. Finding the right foreleg sore and painful, his form slipped through the crack in the stone and found a place suitable enough to rest.


The wolf’s head bent to lick his underside, finding a dirt patch accumulated there. Nibbling the clump of dirt free and watching it fall back from whence it came. He pressed forward and ensured the whole of his belly was clear of dirt, laying back down to better clean it. That having been done, his heart ached to explore the strange land he’d wandered in, and he obliged with halfhearted excitement.