Blacktail Deer Plateau that western skyline

"There, now," said Grayday, nuzzling each puppy in turn. Sitting like this, it was impossible not to think of the dream he'd recently had. Impossible not to think of his own father, holding a long-legged youth to his chest. Sometimes, he felt as though he could never be what Mud had expected of him, but at times like these, he felt like enough.

"When I was little, and I was feeling down, my dad would sing to me or tell me stories," he said to the three, his voice rumbling in his chest. Could they feel it at their backs? Was it that same kind of cathartic experience that Grayday used to have? "So what'll it be? Song or story?"