Swiftcurrent Creek i'm not much a poet but a criminal

When he rounded the foliage, Arric saw him—his greeting about as cheery as the mans outward countenance. Hint: it didn’t match the sunshine that began to graze their land.

Dropping the rabbit closer to the den entrance, he peeked past the hulking Beta—a trio of pups, asleep—thankfully. It wouldn’t be for long. Soon, it would be a whirlwind of activity and exhaustion.

“You say the sweetest things,” he offered back, his tone hushed before he settled back on his haunches.

Then: “Let’s play a game.”