Horizon Ridge In between it's all messed up

Gloves of sand slid along the brown fur of his underbelly, and paws. He stepped slowly, carefully, nose to the ground. He searched and sniffed, the teasing scent of grass and soil, berries and loam. And an aging scent of mint and raspberry mixed with musk and dirt. That was what he searched for, the caches his mother had made. She and his father, two halves to the same coin. Always their scents together, always. Even now so long later, they still lingered. (They really probably didn't, but memory is a funny thing.)

Gunnar lifted steel gray eyes to the horizon, gaze taking in the broken, jagged cusp of clouds that swirled and dipped above him. He stopped a moment to watch as sea gulls wheeled and cried out to one another, their noisy, raucous sounds hurting his ears, even as far away as they were.