Silvertip Mountain you only hear the music when your heart begins to break

He returned Cortland's smile, admiring the way the sunlight turned his golden pelt into something even more magnificent. He detested the sun--as they all should--but he would admit, if only to himself, this one small beautiful sight it provided. He ran his tongue along the boy's forehead, if he would allow, then pressed his muzzle into the bronze ruff, finally letting loose a tremendous yawn.

"I'm tired, Chrysos," he said as soon as his jaws had closed, blinking sleepily over at Cortland. "You know how I am, during the day." He stretched, long and languorous, even wiggling each individual toe in the process. A contented smile bloomed across his face, sleep pulling at the edges of his mind.

Phocion rested his head upon Cortland's shoulder, closing his eyes, his tail drifting idly to and fro on the ground behind him. He wished his friend could tell him a story; he would love to hear one, as he drifted off to sleep. But no matter. Phocion was never one to forget his blessings--he was lucky to have Cortland here, alive, with him. On Silvertip Mountain.

That thought alone set fire to any notion of distress he carried with him, these past few days.