Rising Sun Valley tell me why

days were getting warmer, but still her own farts heated her up better than the sun could. gun managed day-to-day by being lazy, curled up and napping in some forest hovel - a hollowed-out tree or a bit-too-tight den.

when not knocked unconscious, she was on the move. the mastiff wasn't a hunter-- she had to survive through chewing on old bones and thieving. her belly usually woke her, and gun went walking until she either got too tired, or found something to eat.

no luck the previous day. exhausted and tetchy, gun wound herself tight within a fox burrow, small enough that all four of her paws stuck out while her bulk was squashed inside. the concept of frostbite eluded her mental faculties.

as always, her sleep was characterized by obnoxious, thunderous snoring.