running out of muse

The day dawned gray and chilly, as usual this volcanic spring, with Chaos waking to watch over his pack. Today he found himself infused with a restless energy, pacing the border of the grassy basin as though it were actually a pack border rather than a simple temporary home that he'd no more right to guard than a loner. Habits were hard to break, though, and he had little other outlet for his strange mood today. He sniffed experimentally at the breeze and considered looking to see if anyone was interested in trying to chase down hares with him. It was spring, and despite the land's misbehavior closer to the volcano it was the time of year that the small mammal population would begin booming, the pack needed feeding, and he needed something to do. But he doubted he'd have the focus to actually catch any hares, so all that effort would doubtlessly be wasted. So why not waste that same energy uselessly patrolling a meaningless border instead, instead of bothering anyone else.