Bramblepoint hollywood forever cemetery sings

Rian, too, was struggling with their current choice of residence. He and Rannoch both were burly wolves, though his cousin had the height he lacked, and, similarly, his thickset build did not give him the breathing room to slip through the brambles like Cypress or Rose's did. He avoided the tighter tangles, and often went the long way around if it was avoidable. His collection of superficial scratches and scrapes was growing by the day, especially on his nose and limbs. But he was too preoccupied by their current situation to give them much care.

He lashed his tongue uselessly across the irritated skin as he lay in a rare clearing, mulling over the happenings of the past week. First was the poor injured girl—then Rose, the prodigial medic and finally Tryp, the awkward runaway. He didn't like the implications of their continued presence, and had a mind to run them all off. Rian couldn't find a single fault with any of them that ticked him off. In fact, he even felt rather sympathetic towards them when the night waned and sleep eluded him. Especially poor Keoni. But the feeling could not overpower his fears of attracting unwanted attention.

Suddenly, the rustle of undergrowth caught his attention and drew his focus outward to his immediate surroundings. Between the vines and trees he caught sight of a familiar grayscale bulk: Rannoch. His ears flattened against his ruff and he thought about ignoring his cousin just to be petulant, but a queer sense of duty urged him to rise and pursue his cousin. As he approached, his tongue swiped over the fresh scrape on his nose and his eyes fixated somewhere on Rannoch's own muzzle. "Hey," he chuffed.