Since losing Leviticus, Sawyer had become aimless. Having survived his first coupling season, he traveled north. From Roamer's Rest, he marched around Whisper Caverns. He trailed unknowingly after a four-doe deer herd through his grandparents' old stomping grounds. Eventually, he reoriented himself to find his way to the banks of Heartleaf Creek.
The trees above were full of heart-shaped leaves and the tree cover was a welcome relief. As much as he did not want to admit it, Sawyer was beginning to get frustrated. He was nowhere and, yet, he was not lost. He belonged to no one, and he no longer had anyone to look after. Sawyer was very much still the yearling who had come from afar. Alone and exasperated.
When the sun rose on another boring morning, the Archer abandoned his makeshift camp. Everything about him was stiff and surly. His hackles lifted high over his nape in terrible spikes. His bottlebrush tail dangled lifelessly behind him. The pointy ears on either side of his head remained pinned. His muzzle wrinkled as he kept dragging his tongue down the front of his nose. Every fiber of his being was starting to wonder why he had left in the first place.
As his dragging paws brought him to a shallow part of the river, he eyed the Riffle's rapids with narrowed eyes. Unimpressed and unamused. He had come this far, so... now what?
to dream a little bigger, darling
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