whirling dust in morning air

It was still pretty early when Viðarr dragged himself from sleep. There was work to be done, after all. The previous day's hunting needed to be broken down and processed, split into raw materials and put away properly. Things would be easier when they put down roots for real. Viðarr found himself dreaming of it... maybe it was a romanticized ideal. It probably was, but he didn't mind.

The shadow wandered down the length of the wall with the leg of yesterday's sheep clutched in his jaws. On careful, steady paws he climbed up on one of the less crumbled sections, a comfortable distance from his family. Far enough to not bother them, near enough to be there in an instant if something happened. With the sun coming up before him, Viðarr lowered his head to enjoy the meal. Today would be okay.

"Viðarr"