Sunbeam Lair like the river, you just come and go

Skífa had spent the last two evenings heading south, and on the morning of the third day, he found the entrance of Sunbeam Lair. Now, he stood cautiously at its threshold. His head was slung low, his eyes narrowed and discerning. The rising sun cast shards of bright, prismatic colors into the shadows; cold condensation pirouetted from the cavern's dark mouth like fog, twisting up into the cloudy sky. He could smell the dampness inside, the smell of wet rock and musty plants. 

He had lived on carrion and snowmelt for the last two weeks, and he was ravenously hungry. But he briefly forgot this as he gazed into the wide, gaping Lair with its mica-flecked walls and toothy, dripping icicles, its muck piles of decayed brown pine needles tucked in around crenellations of fallen rock, its carpet of crinkled autumn leaves and silver-green moss and lichen. The cavern was almost alluring.

Skífa began to limp slowly inward, advancing into the warm, damp shadows behind the rays of sunlight. As his eyes adjusted, he saw pools of dim gray-blue light farther back in the cavern; there must be holes in the ceiling, he thought. There might be something worth finding, then - maybe carrion, if something had fallen through one of those holes. Or an old food cache perhaps, or some small animal who'd turned this shelter into its winter den. Skífa gnashed his teeth together and prowled deeper in.

If nothing else, maybe it'd be a good place to rest for a while. At least until his leg healed up.