Shadow Mountain sunflower still grows at night

@Chausiku

The mountain's face was lined in part with lush green foliage to entice passerbys. A weasel, small and barely noticeable, scurried through the brush. Sycamore watched from the base as he made his way up, mouth watering at the thought. Each step that he took was careful and precise so as to not disturb to fragile arrangement of stone.

I am, he thought to himself, I am, I am Shadow Man. The words, when spoken aloud, brought about a childlike giggle. I am Abraham. It was a more serious name, one that invoked a prideful stance and dominant curl of his tail. 

Halfway to the top, Sycamore fell silent, lest someone hear his musings.