Dawnlark Plains Tip-toe through the tulips

The warm summer rain misted through the morning, condensing through the afternoon until it finally wept itself dry come dinner time, not that any weather would have deterred the overcast wolf as he travelled. There was no shelter on the plains; he roamed as an exposed shadow beneath the cotton-swab clouds, keeping his head low in order to investigate the terrain for clues.

The wetness of his pelt gave him an extra level of saturation, soaking him through and slicking back his usually unruly coat. He did not like the rain (despite resembling a land locked moody cloud) and reflected back to an earlier date when the summer sun had been bright and unhindered. Part of him longed for that weather to return - but he would likely find himself complaining about that too, once he was baking in the heat.

The rain had sundered most of the scents he came upon. Even after it ended, as evening crept up to meet him with a few predictable gusts of humid wind, there was little for him to differentiate or discover. He grunted in frustration as he veered along a new heading, unwittingly crossing in to the hunting range of the resident pack.