Sunbeam Lair as history goes on, i grow numb to its repetitions

thorn had always liked snow; it was pristine and cold, a white preservative that coated the world in bitter frost. it provided a barrier, it slaked thirst - and above all, it easily betrayed the passing of any soul that tread across it.

it was easy then to follow the two sets of prints; both made by wolves of the basilisk's pack. they led down into a darkened corridor where the halls were closed in by stone -- thorn ducked under the strange arch, his eyes adjusting slowly to the dusk.

then, a waft of air scampered by, carried by the swiftly parting feet of a hare that slid between his legs and was gone. thorn froze, still somewhat blind -- and then another dashed by.

he snapped at the passing form too late, but when he lifted his head some order had come to his eyesight; he could make out a broad beam of light, and the dappled form of a packmate cornering a herd of -- rabbits? and then he saw takiyok's form hunched, likely digging -- and it all came together.

they had discovered a warren; thorn's nose was overrun with the scent of rabbit, and with a growl to announce his presence, the bulky yearling set down at the entrance, looking the part of some wicked cerberus as he executed any rabbit unfortunate enough to fly his way.