Stone Circle baptized in holy water and moonshine

while there is a lingering sense of strangeness of being just a subordinate again ... especially to a pack that is not led by his wife, there is also a weightlessness to it. an unusual sensation of not having the pressure of leadership upon his shoulders, not unlike the relief that atlas must've felt being relieved from shouldering the skies.

but rusalka is a creature of habit and takes to the borders of stone circle as any well established guardian would.

he pauses to drink in the sunrise, the sun painted a pastel pink as it rises over the horizon, the chill in the air telling him that autumn was quick on it's way with winter not too far behind.