The Days Grown Old

Elated, you went to greet your roughed up mother. Supposedly, she fought hard with this creature, leaving her muzzle riddled with tears and bitemarks. You and the rest were more than happy to clean her wounds and then nesting in her soft fur soon enough. You would worry about it tomorrow. Happy with her return and her tired look, it was best to worry about it tomorrow.

Laying in the small space between her forearms, you scratched at your floppy ear and trained your eyes on your mother's. The grand white wolf was waiting for you and the rest to settle down before she would do so herself.

The wind lulls you to sleep.