Dragoncrest Cliffs the good left undone

He always found the most solace in the simpler dreams. The company of the family, the pack, and the rest falling neatly into place--he was fine with that, and although most weren't remembered for all too long, he'd take that any day over dreaming of the times long past, of sorrow, of strife--all the ones he could more readily fashion into nightmares.

But, she confirmed, his tail waved as it would be that they had dreaming about everyday sorts of things in common. A certain phrasing let him segue into a question he had to follow with, too: What does my scent look like? Having her alone made for a good chance to try to understand that facet better. Seeing scents seemed unorthodox at first glance, but in a way, he maybe he understood--their noses were good, sometimes he felt like he could almost see a particularly ripe trail.. but not quite in a tangible way he could ever explain what it looked like. With thinking along those lines, that was how he tried to make sense of it, somewhat. Was it just a particularly gifted sort of nose? Or was there more at play here?