Shadewood let me be sad

Early morning, 9°C, Cool breeze. Music inspiration. All welcome.

Ansgar's alabaster coat was dirty and damp, streaks of mud soiled his pelt and blood stained his whiskers — but he didn't care.

He didn't feel a thing. He was numb. 

His eyes burned, painfully dry from all the tears he had wept whilst burying Bjarte. He had spent all night digging his grave. He had picked the earth right beneath a great old oak tree. It was fitting, he thought, that the wise old male should be laid to rest beneath the bows of an ancient oak, its branches weathered and worn but steadfast amongst the other trees which towered around it. 

Ansgar's deep mahogany gaze drifted up from the freshly disturbed earth and focused on the leaves which danced above him in the early morning breeze. The leaves were still wet, still shaking off the last droplets of water that had gathered there during the previous night's rainfall. 

The young wolf gave a thorough shake of his own pelt, sending specks of dirt crashing against the trees which inhabited the quiet woodland. It was time for him to move on. Nothing would come of him lingering by a dead wolf's grave. Exhaling a long, trembling breath, he gave one last glance to the soft mound of fresh soil and began to walk away.