Silvertip Mountain Cobra's nest

As the sun lifted lightly along the horizon, beckoning its diurnal compatriots into their waking hours, Balthazar was just now beginning to wonder where he would sleep. It wasn't a normal occasion for him to rest during the day, but having spent every hour of the previous night in hunt of food, he simply wasn't at leisure to decide when his body needed rest.

The night had passed unsuccessfully, and he gazed with a palpable amount of dissatisfaction towards the rising sun; as if it were the flaming ball of fire's fault that he'd only come across rotting carrion in the dark. But even if the corpse had not filled him in the slightest, Balthazar's grumbling belly had been slated for the moment.

He scaled the side of a mountain, as was his inherent skill to do so, and found a shady nook in which to rest beneath. The overhang kept the sun from his eyes, and the pale wolf lay the front half of his massive body in the available shade, while letting his rump roast in the sun which continued on higher as the hours passed. Balthazar snored, he was this at ease with himself.