Lost Creek Hollow lunita

the day was dawning. silvertongue did not want to leave her den, but did so anyway. forelegs dripping, the star washed her face and chest in the lovely coldness of the river, then sat upon its bank in the growing sun slowly preening her pelt until it shone. spring had come and soon the snow would depart, what little of it reached the ground between the interlaced branches. her body; she tried not to think of it, of how visually she knew she had changed.