Hushed Willows [m] I'll grow bitters on the borders of your whistling skin

he thought he heard a strange clamor just outside the denmouth.
leadership meant responsibility, and responsibility meant always being busy. there was little in the way of downtime to be found for him. if he wasn't hunting he was patrolling, and if he wasn't patrolling he was training, and if he wasn't training he was eating, and if he wasn't eating he was asleep; and that was where he was now, twitching as the aching, shrill scrape of antlers found him in his dreams.
when he woke, one eye popped open and his head slowly began to turn toward the open face, where evening light slowly crawled in.
reverie? he drawls, fighting the scratchiness of sleep that threatened to break his gentle tone. what-- you home?