Sleeping Dragon After the Bombs

He made his home on the borders of the Sleeping Dragon, away from the slopes of the massive volcano that made up their claim just as Thuringwethill had commanded when he arrived. Having finially tracked his commander down, life had slowed down dramatically. He lived on the scraps. Eli knew he was the bottom man on the pecking order of this new pack, but this wasn't particularly a problem. He had always been a follower at heart. He followed his orders without question or argument.

Despite the slow turn his life had taken, Eli tried to keep himself occupied in any way possible. He rarely slept, and during nearly all waking hours he tended to the borders as had been previously commanded. Rising in the early moring, Eli circled the territory until his legs bid him break before pushing himself for a final lap around the territory.  Then, and only then, would he allow himself the mercy of sleep. 

His patrol wore on and a stiffness had begun to set in to his right foreleg.

The evening sun began to sink low on the western end of the territory as light gave way to darkness. Setteling to his haunches, Eli stopped his patrol for a moment and allowed himself a short reprieve to watch the day slip away.