Dawn’s light was just beginning to peek up from the mountain ridge when Anther opened his eyes.
Overhead, the winds raced one another, carrying with them the night’s lingering chill as they shook the branches and set sway to the meadow grass, but with Anther’s inner fire burning inside him, and his toughened hide like a winter cloak, he hardly noticed the cold discomfort at all.
What he did notice, as he lay unmoved from where he had lain the night before, his nose filled with the scent of ash and dry smoke, was the quiet.