Sleepy Fox Hollow Sapling

The thrill of the run swept the dark wolf forward until his limbs felt like they would quake. Crowfeather turned toward Germanicus, smiling, joyful. The dark wolf’s tongue hung from his mouth as he panted out further racing steps.

Late summer colors shifted past him in a blur. The smell of fall was on the air. Crowfeather slowed his pace some, breathing heavily from the effort of their jaunt. His eyes scoured the rocky face with interest, hoping to catch sight or wind of a mountain goat.