Dawn Treader Valley Άσε για μια στιγμή να 'χουν τα χείλη άλλη επαφή για λίγο

A herd of pronghorns had drifted close to the entrance of their new home, chewing on scrub, and he watched them.

Enshrined in the shadow of the rocks, blending with them despite the snow white of his coat. They needed more to eat, but he wasn’t going to attempt to tackle a lone pronghorn by himself. A late spring calf or two drifted among the adults, and it was those he closely watched. For any weakness, any sickness, any weak legs or wheezing. He didn’t see any, but that didn’t mean it didn’t exist.

One of his ears tilted towards the sound of footsteps, and he picked up his head from his feet to find the princess, standing nearby with a meal between her teeth. His ever bored expression didn’t shift, but he did jerk his head over towards himself. An invitation, and, if he was lucky, a lesson.