digging.

There was a small (so small) voice in his mind that said it was too early to be drinking. Thankfully for Wyndham that voice was almost entirely drowned out by raucous, joyful crowing that crowded his mind with each swig. Now he was pleasantly drunk enough that he'd left his meadskin in the safety of a shallow hole and wandered off to find a meal. The massive expanse of grassy plains stretched out before him in seeming infinity. Every direction he looked was the same save for one lone, crooked tree in the distance. To his eye it wobbled slightly despite the breeze being very light, but that could have easily been the alcohol doing its work. He grinned stupidly at it, mesmerized for a moment by the tiny undulating movements. It wasn't until his stomach protested its hunger that he was set moving again. The sun was just reaching its zenith, but despite that there was still an early-spring chill clinging to the air. A sudden explosion of grass to his left announced the flight of a hare, but his reactions were too dulled for him to give chase. Instead he flinched into an almost predatory stance, stared hard in the direction the creature had run, and waited. What he was waiting for even Wyndham wasn't sure. Maybe if he just stood still long enough the hare would come back out of curiosity and he would have an easy lunch. That seemed as feasible a conclusion as anything else.


"