Drooping Willows poisen & wine

A peaceful mound of black fur, painted silvery by the fine layer of frost embedded in his fur, rose and fell with the steady breathing of a slumbering elder. For once, his mind was as restful as his body, free from dreams of ill-gotten demons and Divine Lords to interrupted his sleep. Only when the sunlight filtered in through the branches above, made brighter by the white sheen of winter, hit his face did he stir. A grunt and sigh preluded a twitch to rid himself of the uncomfortable tickle that the ice brought to his shoulder blades. He buried his face under his left shoulder, trying to block out the annoying light. In an attempt to sleep in, he tried to Will himself back under to no avail. With a throaty growl, he pulled his face from hiding and blinked in the glare.

When his vision adjusted, he slowly rose. Cracking joints and slivers of pain greeted him and he grunted. The old man arched his back and popped his spine. This time only an odd sense of relief in the place of pain comforted him and he continued on until his legs were stretched accordingly. He finished the ordeal with a brisk shake of the head to loosen flakes of frost from his snout and ears. It was time to start his morning. Though new and still pack-less, he counted himself lucky to have found this place. It had so much going for it, in the few areas he'd explored. Rabbits seemed plentiful this season, so his hunger was normally sated, and even with the freeze, he still found it possible to drink from the streams when he didn't feel like eating snow. Heck, the old one had even found a half-frozen fish in the shallows that he'd been able to pull ashore and tear apart, though it hurt his jaws to do so.

Having just awoken, he wasn't particularly hungry. And not feeling up to a hike, he bent his snout and nibbled a few chunks of snow and ice. He licked his chops after to warm them with his tongue. He felt an itch coming on, so he balanced his weight and brought his hind leg up to scratch behind an ear. While busy with that new and exciting task, a scent wafted toward him. The cold air did wonders to sharpen his senses and he picked up what seemed to be a female. At once he wondered if Rebecca had found him here. He couldn't remember what she smelled like, so he wasn't able to tell if this one was her or not. Pulling his leg away and righting himself, the grizzled wanderer paused to listen. He couldn't hear anyone, but that didn't mean much to him. Just 'cause you don't see anyone, smell anyone, or hear anyone doesn't mean you're alone. Just meant that you had to pull the rabbit hair out of your ears and get your feet on the ground. Or at least, that's what his granddad would say. Never really understood the sentiment, himself.

No sense coming off rude if there really was someone lurking about. He barked once in an ambiguous greeting. Seeing nothing else to do, he turned back to his sleeping spot and dug away at the snow until he saw brown, frost-burnt grass. Settling down on that grass, he nudged snow over his limbs and tail, serving to cover himself for warmth. A neat little trick handed down by elders from his home pack when old Vaelencian was only a pup. Hopefully it was a trick he could hand down himself one day. One of many, to be sure.