Firefly Glen fever down in my bones

Spending time away suits him more. He can shed the names he’s been given, and retreat back into what is comfortable for him. Odd how one once lonely could miss being, well, alone.
He traverses southward, down the path towards Firefly Glen as if it is becoming his own haunt. The supposed “Moonspear jerks” have yet to bother him, he doesn’t hunt in their territory. He hasn’t been hunting often anyway.
Champagne eyes find hold of sterling silver fur. At first he prickles, and then he relaxes. It seems he isn’t the only outcast out here.
Oh, you again. He says in lieu of a greeting. Despite the words, they aren’t spoken in an unwelcome tone.