oath of silence

When he wasn't scrounging for food or walking, Iarlaith was sleeping. Of course, a damnably long winter (where the hell was spring) certainly didn't help the malaise he suffered under. He'd stumbled across this place last night.

It felt old. Mysterious. A bit scary.

Which meant it was perfect.

Other wolves tended to avoid places like this, as far as he knew, and that meant no one would be bothering him any time soon. He'd nestled his way between a piece of some sort of metal—oblong and slightly concave—and the snowy earth. His back was covered, just the ends of his paws and the tip of his fluffy tail poking out as he snored softly. He didn't sleep half as often as he would have liked, and that was a shame. And when he did sleep, he didn't sleep even a fraction as deeply as he used to.

And boy, was that an ever-loving nuisance.

Because he definitely thought he heard the scraping of paws a minute ago, and now he wasn't going to be able to sleep because he was too busy worrying about whatever the hell it was! Better not be that Big Bastard again. His nose crinkled in the shadows where his face was hidden. He'd pull his paws in, but he was pretty sure more of him wouldn't fit under his makeshift (and literal) shield unless he actually got out and dug into the frozen earth. Which he really didn't feel like doing. So… better check.

He bent at the middle, hind legs shifting back under him (and under his cover), so the end of his pointed muzzle could poke out. One glistening, orange eye peeked at the barren landscape. It narrowed, shifting back and forth, searching. "Hmph."