Redtail Rise Poverty with security is better than plenty in the midst of fear

It was decided on this day that @Riley would be the one she slept nearest to that night. It was her way. Sleeping near each packmate in turn was meant to quietly foster a basic level of trust between them and herself, though it also gave her the chance to feel a tiny bit superior, as if she were gifting her presence to them. And none of her clan would be bereft of their opportunity to sleep near the illusory starveling. Not on her account anyway. 

She had investigated this newcomer but had not spared him a word or a second thought since his arrival. She padded in the dark, lantern eyes alighting the male’s most recent trail as she hunted for where he rested. Upon discovering him, she crept forward with the lightfooted grace of a cat cautiously sneaking up to a new cardboard box it intends to inhabit, watching to see if he was still awake, prepared to be noticed.

Presently, Riley slept — unaware of the banshee who, armed by night’s shadows, crept close.

In any other circumstance, Riley would have delighted in female company in such rousing hours — but Fifth was much younger than he, and while a packmate, was a relative stranger.

He snuffed loudly as she lingered; with a snore and a smack of his lips, the great beast stirred long enough to flip onto his other side before once more drifting off into sleep.

She watched him turn in his sleep, listened to his snore-song, and waited for a deep unconsciousness to still him once more before she proceeded to turn in a tight circle and ball up nearby to rest. For a while, she laid there and looked at him in the dark… until her eyelids grew heavy and she found herself blearily tucking her face between her legs and morphing into a croissant.

feel free to have as much time pass as you want!

not the croissant!

It was hours after Fifth ascended into the croissant plane that Riley woke.

It was not daylight or the gradually rising chorus of dawn that roused him.

No. It was the pervasive reek of rotted flesh.

His nose twitched as the aroma hit his cognizance with the bite of a thorn; opening one eye and then the other, Riley came to with the reflexes of a startled cat.

He leapt back with a grunt, alighting their slumbering world with clatterijg dirt and pebbles — every fur stood on end as he tried to make sense of the shape that had intruded his sleep.

Flinching into wakefulness, her head snapped to attention at the sound of Riley jumping up like a bucket of ice water had been poured on him. She was used to these responses by now – it had happened a lot at first – which made her reaction seem drugged by comparison. Body remaining inertly curled, she squinted owlish eyes at him as the dust settled and thumped her tail softly on the ground. That usually seemed to help calm others down.

Riley was properly spooked. Fifth, however, seemed hardly affected. The sluggish blink of her eyes and soft whump of her tail against dirt signified every positive intention possible. Still, Riley’s fur stood on end.

He had spent years sleeping alone. Even in the Rise, his quarters were isolated. Sniffing the area, Riley had to wonder what kind of trick this was. Was it a test? Did prying eyes watch from the shrubs, waiting for one wrong move?

Finally, he found his voice. What are you doing?

His suspicion was warranted, which meant Carrion accepted it with a modicum of grace. Her tail moved to hug spindly legs as the newcomer’s burning eyes darted accusingly to the surrounding trees – wanting for a source of this strange behavior of hers – but no one was there. They were utterly alone, and the girl looked at him from her curled-up position with the same sleepy-eyed regard a nestled cat might give to a human caretaker who may offer scritches in passing.

She lifted her chin and tilted her head, questioning. What does it look like I’m doing? She felt no need to verbally respond to such a silly question.

Riley set on his heels, mired by disbelief.

Firstly -- this behavior was new to him. Secondly, he had no reasonable explanation for it.

The source of his consternation offered no help. Her doe-eyed sleepiness and soft thump of a tail spoke that this was something mundane and routine for her; that he was the source of discord here.

Realizing he'd find no logical explanation from his unexpected house guest, Riley slid back to his stomach -- but not before glancing around them one last time to make sure no hungry parent came for his hide. Fine, stay. But no snoring. Ultimatum delivered, Riley crossed his front legs and set his head upon his paws.

Eventually, slowly, his muscles uncoiled, coming around to the idea of her as his figurative roommate. Carrion watched as the weight of his situation settled uncomfortably upon his shoulders – she, the grandma to his hideously itchy Christmas sweater – and blinked at him appreciatively once he had settled down.

You snore, she accused him, implying that it was not fair he got to snore when she couldn’t. But she was being facetious and quickly moved on, showing no intention of going back to sleep despite her very comfortable position. Do you have good dreams or bad dreams?

Did he snore? Riley's lip twitched - he supposed like anything, it was possible. He'd never had company long enough to let him know.

Carrion settled into herself in the comfortable manner of a cat before a wood stove. It would have been endearing, were it not for the strangeness of it all to Riley. What made her do such a thing? What if he was the type to take advantage of it?

Her question took him by surprise. For several seconds, he introspectively examined his dreams. A mix of both. But mostly, I dream about water. Why do you ask, do you have bad dreams?

For a time the two discussed their dreams -- Riley still unsettled, but gradually growing accustomed to Carrion's strange proclivities. In the end his tiredness won over wariness, and he let loose a yawn, announced he was going to bed, and drifted off into seamless sleep.