Lost Creek Hollow The Sharpest Lives

*squeaks this in before work*

The air was thick with humidity, though it had truly been the smell of rain on the air that told Mordecai it was coming. And slowly as he made a final round of the perimeter they had been working to establish, the moonlight had slowly faded away into the cover of darkness. There it seemingly remained, though the loss of light did little to deter him from continuing on. As it were, it seemed the string of bad weather they had been having was coming to an end as well. That was perfectly fine; if he never had to see another thunderstorm the rest of the year, he was fine with that. Not after all the devastation they had brought to the countryside, not after all the burning and smoke. Certainly not after the trials and tribulations of the last few weeks.

At the point where he thought he'd turn in before the rain came, he caught the faintest of syllables rolling along with the wind. A little song and not much more, but enough to gain his attention. He pressed on ahead from the junction he had come to, following the loose paths through the forestry. It was not much longer before he began to spy out what could have only been the crude shape of another canine. Mordecai did not hide his approach; a closer inspection told him more than he could have asked for. A scraggly youth, one that still bore faint encounters with another place. Perhaps there was a thread of familiarity in it, but Mordecai could not place it either.

He chuffed at the yearling, letting his posture rise up naturally. Mordecai did not yet inquire what the wolf was doing there, presuming that his approach and subsequent stature would prompt the younger fellow into figuratively spilling the beans.