Rising Sun Valley A Stray Ember

Easy, too, was a creature who best moved at night. The thickness of her pelt meant that sunlight rarely reached deep enough to warm her skin, but that she remained toasty warm regardless. Really, it was just that the world was so pretty when the sun was hidden. That was when the stars came alive and the crickets and the frogs all sang, and there again was that owl screeching.

The shewolf veered toward it, hoping to see the great spread of silent wings. There was something arresting about a bird gliding across the night sky, blotting out stars so quick and so smooth that they only seemed to blink. Some owls were black-on-black against the velvet sky, while barn owls glowed milky blue, like stories of spirits burning in the swamplands — will-o-the-wisps or hinky-punks. Nothing glowed like that in daylight, save for the dusk as the sun bedded down in the evening.

This change of direction brought her to the crest of the hill. On the next slope, she caught sight of a slinking shadow as it picked its way down the uneven grade. She watched it, fluffy ears sweeping back for a moment, but then pressing forward as she began moving again. Toward the shadow and not away, black nose twitching as she tried to take in his scent.

They were two dark smudges against the white landscape. Easy's long legs carried her toward him even as she waited to be seen.