He felt stronger. Slowly, ever so agonisingly slowly, he seemed to be regaining his strength. Every day now, he would walk for increasingly longer distances, often out to the border, to leave his mark, even if he couldn’t yet walk the length of it. Soon he would be able to move back to the comunal den, the official proof that he was fully recovered. Even if he didn’t quite feel it.

For the first time in months, the Rye king was hopeful. While his leg was still a bit sore, and his shoulder sometimes locked a little as he walked, he felt sure he would be up to his old strength within long. It just needed rehabilitation, which was a lot better than rest, because at least he was doing something. So he walked as much as he could, slowly, and with many breaks in between, but constantly returning to the task with great conviction; Just a little bit more..!

It was on one of these walks, as he sidled up to the border, huffing, just a little, that he caught sight of a familiar, agouti figure. Smiling, a little strained but honestly enough, he settled himself gingerly against a tree trunk and woofed lightly to catch the second’s attention.

Word Count: 210