Hideaway Strath no more alone or myself could I be

The Shaman stood calmly and had his chin lifted to the sun's glorious rays. His eyes were closed and he stood at ease humming softly his face and paws painted in the blood of the squirrel who's tail now hung from the corner of his maw, he had long since eaten the rest of the squirrel.  At the break of dawn that morning he had been asking the gods to bless the earth for growing things.  At his red painted paws to were several plants that had been sprinkled just a little in blood. He’d have to bring these new prize possessions to his new gardens before they died.

With his head held up a small breeze brought him a scent, that brought a warm feeling to his soul, he lowered his head and looked around a smile on his face as he looked for the source of the scent.