Porcupine Ridge catcalls and mercy blows

Anselm obediently tended to Reyson's side, his soft eyes following the male as he motioned to the ground. Here, he nosed the area -- catching whiffs of his own scent amidst the perfume of frozen earth and cold-stressed blades of grass. He noted that just as Reyson said, his scent grew almost imperceptibly fainter here.

He hoped that someday he could command such knowledge freely. For now, he was simply a tumbleweed -- he blew this way and that, unthinking of how he might get home. He was incredibly fortunate to have come across Reyson.

Reyson signaled wordlessly for Anselm to follow. In an upbeat trot, Anselm tallied behind with his nose to the ground and tail wagging. Something about this man reminded him of his own father -- perhaps the gentle way in which he imparted his vast and hard-earned life lessons.