Moonspear technicolor

The venture to the overhang was in silence; he put up a less displeased front in the company of their children, though the friendly wave of their tails was quickly chased away by the desire to get the drop on the better actor in the group presently. Someone squealed behind them as they turned away, but he did not look back to find who for the playful growling that filled the void.

He admired their energy—slogging around in the muck and mire available to them at that present moment had begun to wear into him despite his better attempts.

“The lowlands are flooding again,” he told his wife wearily.

At least for the most part they all had the smarts to stay out of it when it did. Once a torrent started and the water gained a modicum of sense to move, none of them had any interest in finding out where it went exactly. Barring the children, if he had to suspect, but it had been no feat to keep them contained to an area they knew best.

“But, if the rain ever stops we’ll have decent grounds to hunt in. It’s washing out the undergrowth for us and the sight lines are good.”