Bramblepoint i always dream of electric sheep

July couldn't remember the last time he'd slept. His feet fell with heavy thuds as he lumbered along with half-lidded eyes that combed back and forth tiredly in search of shelter. Anywhere in this thick weald would have honestly sufficed for a wolf to rest, but this one was picky about these things. Riverwhite had been a place much colder than this, and he had not yet gotten used to lying in the open or sleeping without the feeling of his body being encased by something. Fatigue made him less fastidious on the matter though, and eventually he vowed to crawl into the next bushy hovel he found, no matter how prickly it looked.

The following morning found him deep beneath the thorniest looking hedge in these bramblewoods. His face and muzzle were red with scratches, evidence that he hadn't heeded the violence of the bush-spurs in his desperation to rest. It was approaching afternoon on that cool, overcast day before he began to stir, and it was a little while after that before he tried to escape from beneath the thorn bushes. A task easier said than done; and now that he had all his wits about him, July felt every spike and pinch of the briers he fought to free himself of.

The greenery shook violently and the rattle of his conflict echoed, as the trapped brute struggled.