Firefly Glen Driven

Rodyn bent his broad back and strong paws to the task of marking spots as moonwoman and Nantahala had suggested. He carried pelts and he cleared brush. Made a few caches in case of.

Dirt painted his face in muddy streaks and clods stuck to his paws. Blades of grass interwoven in his pelt of russet, but he paid it no mind.

A soft snatch of a working song that Samani had often sang curled in his throat. And he worked.