Blackfeather Woods words are wind, my friend

The boy did not adhere to the schedule most seemed to follow in terms of rest and wakefulness, and his periods of activity were almost random. The dark was his favorite, the time when he melted into the shadows as if he were one of them.

yet he now returned from one of his longer outings, thoroughly tired, and approached then den in near silence. It was to his disgust, however, when upon nearing the den spotted his oaf of a brother, most hated of the lot. He did not speak, but eyed him with iced optics, gaze hard, as he pondered simply finding another place to rest. But the fact that Atshen was inconveniencing him thus added to the hatred he felt for the boy, and he did not move, yet.