Lost Creek Hollow A Fistful of Dollars

Solomon pads northeast of Bearclaw Valley. His heavy, wet paws thump and splash against the ground. His ever present frown is evident in his maw due to his drooping lips. The chain on his collar jingles gently agasint his chest and neck as he walks. Wandering into a forest with a thick canopy that surprisingly stops the steady flow of rain fairly well.

His mind is blank as he walks. Pleasantly numb. He wasn’t to sink his teeth into something. Bitter from the situation with his humans. Tries not to think about how sad he truly is.