Sleepy Fox Hollow bang bang, he shot me down

slipped from the shadows of the rocky hills above -- a figure hard and jagged as if splintered from the dark palisades of his birth -- stigmata rolled in like fog unto the meadow of sleepy fox. at first he was uninterested with the place: aesthetics did not move him, and the more he studied the flora here, the more aware he became than this field would be quite barren come winter.

no, this was not a place he would visit again without purpose.

content to move on with his meager findings, the male prepared to choose another route out of the hollow when he at last spotted the distinct outline of another wolf. sandraudiga stilled, his muzzle turned up and ears pressed forward so that he might distantly observe -- with sullen interest -- the dominant perusing of this she-wolf as she claimed whatever space her paws took up.