Broken Antler Fen for you i could pretend i was happy

it's still early morning when roswell stirs awake and 'sneaks' out of the den. eyes in an awkward transition between the baby blue and the soft champagne gold they will be into adulthood, scan the still sleepy morning: taking in the soft pastel colors of spun sugar along the skyline: pink and blue and purple.

the birds have begun their early morning songs, but even they are muted with lingering vestiges of sleep.

roswell is not hindered by sleepiness as he navigates a randomly picked path of dew-kissed grasses. he does not venture too far but having shaken off his sullen funk ( though his questions are still endless ), he wishes only to explore and meet the wolves of brecheliant that he has yet to meet.