Close Quarters

The autumn rain is what drew him into the cave, though he didn't expect at all for it to run as deep underground as it did. It seemed that there had been generations of vermin huddling within, free of the presence of wolves choosing to reside here permanently. It surprised him, but.. he was appreciative as they seemed to be plentiful. One mouse scurrying along the cave wall, trying desperately to get back to the coverage of shrubbery growing deeper within, didn't make it.. as Elias lunged and trapped it beneath his own paw.

He would have snapped at it and made a snack out of it right then had it not been for the ram horn occupying his jaws, so, for now, he settled with the satisfying crunch of bones breaking beneath his weight. Just ahead of him was a ray of light, reaching through the rock that made up the cave roof. Behind him, there was still enough light from the entrance to see anything that made its way toward him. He took advantage of the first pocket of shade that he seemed to find, the one he was currently in- pinched between these two light sources. He felt like this was the safest place for him to choose to rest and dry off from the heavy rain beating down on the sands outside, so.. beside his crushed mouse corpse, he chose to lay.

The sound of the bone of the horn scraping against his teeth could be heard echoing off the walls, though it felt more satisfying than its sound. He let it drop out of his mouth and in between his well-muscled forelimbs long enough to swallow the mouse, and then his attention was solely back on it. His teeth lodged themselves tightly at its base as he began to drag the curve of it along the rock wall beside him. He did not allow himself to scrape it backward- if he wanted it sharp, it was very important that he only allow it to be filed one way. A crack of lightning ripped through the air and lit up the cave, revealing the evidence of his strikes on the wall and silhouetting the shape of his body with the horn sticking out of his teeth. He admired the look, admired the hard evidence of his work so far as he continued to work the muscles of his neck in the same repetitive movements.

He could feel the horn getting smaller as time went on, and every so often he would stop and drop it on the ground, test its blade against the pad of his paw. It was still dull. He would flip it and test its weight: did it need more shaved off on the right or the left? Paying precise attention to these details, he would continue his work and wait out the storm.