Broken Antler Fen i want to be better

Goodnight often dreamed of settling down. He realized that he would be into his third year come summer, and more than a year of bachelorhood had left him feeling sated but terribly lonely. He hadn't been able to stay long with any of the packs he'd crossed or allies he'd made along the way—he simply did not have a will strong enough to remain—which made him wonder if he would ever feel that way, about anything or anyone.

Or if he'd simply be destined to travel his entire life; searching for new and greater things until his legs gave out from under him. A part of him dreaded that kind of perpetually roving existence, but he also wondered often what it would be like.

Today he was thinking of a life opposite to that. As he plucked a half-buried antler from a powdery grave, he imagined what it would be like to bring this chew toy to his children. If his wife would even allow it, or demand something less pointed: like a femur. He chuckled to himself, trotting forward and gnawing thoughtfully on the abandoned headpiece while seeking an ideal place to lie down and whittle away at the bone in peace.

He moved towards the scent of water, and drew to a halt when he noticed another had beat him unto the very spot he was headed. Goodnight dropped the three-branched antler and stood at attention, giving broad wags of his tail so that the other might take him for friendly and beckon him to join them at the waterside.