Shadow Mountain what i had once mistaken for death was, instead, a door

Phocion had been stargazing in the mountains last night and had decided to retire here, rather than make the journey back down to the valley with the dawn's light. Finding a cozy nook, far away from any edges he could tumble over in slumber, the little white wolf settled in, curling his tail round his nose as he drifted off.

But his rest is fitful today, and the slightest sounds wake him--birds of prey overheard, distant thunder, the sound of pawpads on stone. The last sound rouses him fully, and his icy blues open to mere slits, trying to find the source of the noise.

A boy, no more than a year, was drinking from a stream nearby. He is emaciated, and his eyes are older than he is, hollow. Feeling concerned, Phocion rises to his feet, walking over slowly to the lad with a soft chuff to announce his presence.

"Hey," he said, his voice a little hoarse from sleep. "Are you. . .are you okay?"