003. the strength of the Wolf is the Pack
It's a meadow, surprisingly bright and green and the heat of an early spring sun is just beginning to warm the air. The grass is tall and green and there are almost more flowers than blades of grass in the area, riots of bright color and pure white hanging in delicate bells or open bursts of petals. Listening there's the faint drone of bees somewhere nearby, busy with their pollen and even fainter the hint of a stream somewhere, quick with the melt of snow from the mountains that take up the not that distant horizon. Weathered, stunted trees form a wood of sorts nearby, full of cool shade and the old smells of moss and bracken and last years fallen leaves. And Cloud -
Cloud is hard to find.
Until you notice the ears above the grass. Or perhaps a stray breeze blows by and you catch the ripple of gray fur between the swaying blades. He's lying on his stomach, chin resting across his arms and he's...
Well, he's a wolf. Grey and furry and lean muscle with eyes the color of the waters off Costa del Sol. And at the moment, he's watching the whispy clouds overhead, one ear twitching absently at a nearby bird that's trying to decide if he's invading it's nest space or not.
Cloud is hard to find.
Until you notice the ears above the grass. Or perhaps a stray breeze blows by and you catch the ripple of gray fur between the swaying blades. He's lying on his stomach, chin resting across his arms and he's...
Well, he's a wolf. Grey and furry and lean muscle with eyes the color of the waters off Costa del Sol. And at the moment, he's watching the whispy clouds overhead, one ear twitching absently at a nearby bird that's trying to decide if he's invading it's nest space or not.