Redsand Canyon Time Is A Tool

it had taken a couple hours’ worth of retracing paths, but the maze of the lion’s den – what a poetic name for the cavern housing the saints, of all wolves – did not hinder them as they slid from the caverns into the early morning sunlight. the sun was already heating the flat top of the canyon walls; they’d been forced to abandon their adventure in that direction for the sake of their paws.

a gentle breeze ran down into the open mouth of the den, echoing through its halls. there might have been mists in the forest that they’d first claimed, but the canyon was completely exposed; this early in the morning, the sun still saw fit to provide them with wide swaths of shadow cast off the sandstone cliffs.

renard would never admit it, but the wide treeless spaces were unsettling at best. their skin crawled not having a tree to crouch under, fallen branches to climb; with no overhanging shadow, no places to hide, they lacked much of their advantage. sunlight or no, it was time they worked out a replacement.

they stepped out, keeping to the shade of the walls, and went still when their gaze found the familiar brindle figure sprawled in the sun – and then a somewhat less familiar mottled brown approaching, trailing with her the scents of sex and blood as she curled herself into donovan and this place was really something, wasn’t it?

renard briefly weighed the pros and cons of making themselves known. seemed likely someone would notice them either way. and the tail wasn’t exactly forgettable when it came to first impressions.

so they were doing this now, then.

still, there was an air of mystique to maintain. renard slid by them without speaking, though they weren’t expecting to get far before someone spoke up.