Like most nights, the darkness called to him, luring him away from the confinements of Lilya’s den before the sun broke the horizon. He liked being able to catch the first rays of sunlight before the rest of Lore woke up. The ghost did not get much solitude anymore—these early mornings put his anxious mind to rest. Some days he would venture south and watch the sun chase away the moon beside the body of water he affectionately dubbed as Lake Worry. Today, however, he settled for the river’s edge. His hindquarters were folded against the grass, chartreuse gaze fixated on the golden orb in the sky. Birds chirped around him, welcoming the return of the sun with an elaborate chorus. The air was crisp and inviting, drops of dew clinging to his alabaster fur. He relished in the solitude for a moment before unfolding himself from the ground. Dismissing himself from the river, XIX returned to the den-site, his tail swaying gently behind him.
Once he reached the clearing that housed both Lilya’s den and his infirmary Lachesis collapsed against the ground, his long legs stretched out across the dirt as he rolled to his side. He did not know if the sparrow or their little birds were awake just yet, for it was still early. For now he could forgo his patrols, as the father decided he deserved the morning off. He could resume his duties later once he got in some quality time with his children and the mother of his children. The river pack had swelled in size before the birth of their three litters, so Lachesis did not have to fret about jobs being done. The recent additions had already proven their worth to the pale healer; he did not worry much about them. Aside from Aytigin, maybe. Unfortunately the dark male had a mouth on him that could not be contained—unless by force.
He remained where he was, peridots focused on the entrance of Lilya’s den, ears craned forward to listen for movement.
stick with those who stick with you