Bramblepoint when the cold wind is a'calling

She had gone for a walk. It felt like a better way to appreciate the sunrise as opposed to perched on the peak of a mountain. Sparse clouds blotched the lavender sky, morning birds darted hither and thither. Her skull was canted back to take in the sky until the canopy of trees obscured most from view.

Her tongue damped her nose as her gaze shifted to what was before her. Leaves littered the ground; stubborn ones continued to cling to the branches overhead, unwilling to let go and join the fallen. Bushes still carried their browning foliage. Left ear flicked at squirrels darting away from her presence, rushing to stuff their caches for winter.

In her carelessness, a branch snapped underfoot and she winced. She lifted her right fore paw to find of the twig still clinging to her—a thorn pierced a paw pad.

A soft huff escaped as she dropped gracelessly onto her hindquarters. Teeth snapped at the twig. The excess fell off but the thorn was still stuck in her pad. Arnarkla tried to nip at the thorn but the angle was awkward and she missed it each time.