Lion Head Mesa I'm no good at waiting

The cold had settled on the mesa and left the spacious in winter’s crisp grasp.

Inside the sleeping quarters, Crowfeather stirred to look at the dim light beyond the entrance. There were clouds rolling across the sky. He could only see a glimpse of them from where he rested. The light was hidden behind the great stormy waves. The shadow was certain that if he were to leave the caverns, he would find snow on the ground. It was the reason he had started to push himself to walk again.

It took a great amount of effort for the dark figure to push himself up. The ankle that had been twisted had only healed for a few months. There was still time left before he would know the strength he’d had before. Crowfeather knew that it was likely he would never run again, not with the same agility that he had possessed before the attack. He’d become more useless.

With a sharp cry out, the dark figure fell to the floor and cursed softly. The pain coupled with his weak body would not allow him to even test the ankle with his weight. The shadow wondered if he would be trapped there forever.