Hot Tin Roof

If it weren't for the cool breeze that graced her with its presence every now and then Drífa was certain she'd have keeled over. The summer sun was bearing down on her as she tried to traverse a most unsatisfactory terrain. It was full of assorted metal objects that would burn the paw pads of the unsuspecting. The place was just covered with them! She knew enough to know that they were the result of some human shenanigans. Though maybe, just maybe, she could find something useful out in this mess. She stopped to dig at an interesting looking round, flat thing.

Pausing for a moment she shifted her pack and heard the soft murmur of Branwen. The poor raven had taken to hiding in her pack out of the sun where her lack of pigment made her vulnerable to the harsh rays.