GOT AN ANGEL ON MY SHOULDER
But the devil always won...
Snow began to fall lightly, drifting and floating lazily through the air. Hárekr's tongue shot out as he bounced and chased after a few flakes before coming to a stop as the sun peeked from behind the clouds just long enough to send the veins of gold marble glittering along the dried up river bed. Ooooo pretty! His forepaws darted forward as if he might catch the light and somehow save it from the dark but the clouds shifted again and the light was gone. Only the dull gray of the north's early winter remained. Oh, he knew it was fall but up this far? Fall was shorter than an exhale. At least in the valley there was some shelter from the harsher snowstorms that were already beginning to creep in around them. He knew hunting would pick up pace for Yfir which was a shame as Hárekr really wasn't the best hunter. No, he was more of an opportunist and a scavenger.
"Monsters don't sleep under your bed, they sleep inside your head."
