May 28th; Morning, after sunrise; Overcast Clouds; 41.14° F, 5° C
All the little waterways and streams were dry, and, day by day, it was getting harder to stay hydrated for long. Adelard, himself, knew he could manage, but for Woya, now a nursing mother, she needed what drops she could get.
Gone were the days when he fished up empty mussel shells and fetched clear pond water. Dew was getting harder to come by with the rogue early summer drought dragging on. Even the unground reservoir was gone. The pyrite still glittered, but it was nothing without the sparkle of the cavern pool.
Out beyond the borders of his homelands, Adelard's dry nose was desperate for the scent of fresh grass. Stress had matted his saddle-backed coat, but he was not skin and bone. Sinew from fresh kills from the thinning nearby rabbit warren staved the hunger away. Though, it did nothing to fully quench his thirst.
Snout to the ground and tail parallel to the ground, the Leader searched. Overhead, the tap-tap-tapping of a nearby woodpecker was starting to filter to the forefront of his mind. He could not afford to be distracted. There had to be something. Just a puddle would do...