Redsand Canyon My time is running low

Donovan lies in his den. A few stories higher than the level, even ground where the small stream flows into Warrior’s Heart. He likes the height advantage it’s given him, especially as of late. The rains and the flood — horrible, nothing like he’s ever seen.

He expects tonight to go fairly smooth, normal perhaps. He’d sit in his den by himself, thinking of what’s happened in his life within the last few months. Flashes of death pass through his mind. He wants carnage. He wants blood. He wants death. Their numbers grow by the week and their strength grows by the day. Their a force to be reckoned with and he wants to show these weaklings what it’s truly like to be a leader. A harbinger of death.

Yet the frozen lake he finds himself on in his dreams cracks. The noise akin to thunder, a deep baritone of unavoidable death. He falls into the treacherous waters, waves eating him up, and he’s gasping awake. Ears pressed to his skull, he sits up and looks around, eyes flicking towards the entrance of the cavern. He stands, pads out far enough that his claws hang off the edge of slippery, muddy stone. Golden hues mistakable with the North Star they’re so bright as he looks down to see Derg. The male bellows his name and he tilts his head, wondering what for.

“Derg.” He says simply, loud enough to catch his attention. Voice rough with disuse and sleep.