Sleepy Fox Hollow my tarnished coat of arms

the evening is overcast, his belly and the nearest food cache poet'd found was full. the setting sun casts a dim, sickly grey shadows across the hollow; but poet does not fear the shadows. instead, he nestles comfortably into them, embracing them and shrugging into them as if they were a cloak. green gaze scours the path of the borders as he walks them, leaving tufts of loose fur behind on trees, and marking with his paws.

despite his rocky beginning, he plans to make good on his promise; not so sure that this condition didn't actually hold a lasso 'round his life. poet settles into routine well enough; adaptable and willing to adapt.

he gives pause, head bowing to sniff at the scents before a small snort pushes past his flared nostrils and he leaves behind his scent there, too; ears and eyes alert.