Lake Rodney Sailor Song

For @Eset <333

Sleeping exposed, out in the open, with the possibility of murderous cultists prowling the mountains in search, had been unthinkable, thus, it hadn’t taken long for the dark, ugly bags under the dog's eyes to grow from ziplock to tote-sized.

He’d insisted on taking watch each night, pacing the edges of their makeshift camp in unending, jittering circles, twitching with the unvoiced fear that sleep would claim him if he stopped for even a breath, whether he wanted it to or not.

And when, at last, exhaustion had claimed him, it was not for long. His sleep shattered in fits, torn apart by gasping breaths and bared teeth, jaws snapping at shadows that danced just beyond his sight, his snarl caught in the echo of the Abbot’s cave. Waking like that had left him shaken, the shame and embarrassment of the incident sealing the dog's mouth for an entire day.

So when the lake finally shimmered into view, he felt a flicker of hope. He set off to scout, his search leading him to an abandoned coyote den. It was cramped and muddy, but it could be expanded to make a passable shelter for the night. However, The Prophet, something near royalty himself, however much he denied it, was not accustomed to the gritty work of den-digging, and by the time he’d finished, he was half-buried in dirt, more mud than dog with a coat blanketed in grime, and his mood all the darker for it.

Eset, he called, wiping a filthy paw across his face and only succeeding in smearing the muck further. He glanced over the little hollow, envisioning the night’s patrol routes before nodding to himself. What do you think of this spot for tonight? Far safer than being out in the open.

A flicker of satisfaction softened his features as he mapped out the patrol paths in his mind, ticking each turn and vantage point. The Hebsut would be safe and comfortable, and he would already be prepared—therefore eliminating any moment he'd have to sit down and, heaven forbid, fall asleep.