Moonsong Glacier the sun is not a-bed

He caught up swiftly, reaching to tackle her and declare himself the winner of the race. Work could be fun, the sunset was discovering. 

If he but had a proper voice, his laughter would be more evident than that of a coyote yip-yapping into the night. Alas, it was not yet so. 

Yet.

As it happened, they had raced to the meadow, and of this, he was delighted. 

Perfect! Now they could hunt a doe!