Hushed Willows you're just like an angel

Investigating from Emberflame Ridge.

The ridge line exposed him to the elements, try as he might to travel without being seen by whatever demon watched from overhead; he knew it was there. He could feel it. The heat of the summer sun felt like eyes burning holes on the back of his neck; the tremulous nature of the humid air was like the husky breath of some sort of creature, dragging through his scruff, touching at his cheeks, licking at his nose — but he dared not glance skyward in case that infernal eye were to turn upon him.

The ghost drifted; soon, the whispered sound of the wind through the trees was all he could detect, but Mou was still thoroughly convinced that he could hear — something, a voice? The void? He skittered between the trees and with one last long reach of his stilted stride, pulled himself in to a hollow of exposed roots, wrapping himself in to a bundle and burrowing against the dirt in an attempt to hide from the eye. Above him, the sun blinked and crept behind some clouds, allowing him a moment of respite from both the heat and his addling fears.

He dozed there for an hour or so, unaware of how close he was to the resident pack — oblivious, being on the fringe of their claim and on a low henge connecting to the neighbouring ridge — he would be easily overlooked if the wolves of Elysium failed to look down.