Lost Creek Hollow sunrise, parabellum.

The wolf Veran had been a quiet member of their peaceful pack. Crowfeather had taken no issue with the man’s modesty. While his curiosity had picked at him, he hadn’t found the opportunity to speak with the healer on his own. Patience had played its part.

When the sun revealed itself and warmed the winterworn lands, the tripod had gathered a particularly plump fish and carried it to find Veran. When he happened upon the other man, he found him sleeping peacefully in the golden rays of sunlight.

Worried that he might interrupt a good rest, Crowfeather placed the fish nearby and made himself busy in the holly brush a few paces away.