fre sha voca do

This place was downright magical. Lumbering through the trees, the male felt the soft caress of willow branches like fingers through his fur. They slid smoothly over his flanks, trailing down his spine. Today he was in search of a den site, since he was far too old to be sharing with his siblings by now. They had an image to maintain, after all! Not that they weren't welcome to cuddle him at any time they wanted. Nope, open doors there. He hummed a quiet tune to himself, stepping carefully over the chilly streams of water that seemed to weave all through the territory. Branch had chosen a great place to settle down. It was quiet and peaceful.

A young sapling presented itself, struggling to grow in the shade of a much larger tree. The space between them would fit more than one wolf of his size, or even Branch's. A thoughtful hum rumbled through his chest. The younger tree was still quite small, its trunk relatively thin. He circled around it, pushing through the drooping branches to reach the trunk. Pressing his right shoulder against it, he leaned his weight against it experimentally. The young tree gave in to the assault, swaying under his bulk. Perfect.

Hopefully Branch wouldn't mind him breaking things. As long as those things weren't his bones, it was probably fine. Right?

Rearing up on his hind legs, he braced his forepaws against the trunk of the sapling. It was going to die in the shade of the larger tree, he reasoned. Better to fell it now, and make use of it. Leaning his weight and strength against the young tree, he made quick work of snapping through the fibres of the trunk until it toppled against the thick trunk of the elder willow. It wasn't leaning the way he wanted, though. A grunt was uttered as the male kicked the tendrils of tree boughs out of his path. Jamming his snout into the space around the crown was not a fun task, and the end of his muzzle, nose, and lips were scratched up by the tougher bases of the branches. Ouch.

He grabbed a mouthful of branches, and started to tug backwards. Jerking his head back, paws braced in the dirt, he shifted the tree. It was hard work. Breath shoved itself from his lungs with every violent tug of his head. Each pull only brought the sapling a few centimetres forward, and he spent more time than he'd care to admit trying to get it into place. It needed to be secure, so it didn't crush him in the night. Perhaps he'd try and slap some mud in there to really keep it in place. A resounding crack! signalled the end of his endeavour. A major fork in the branches had wedged itself firmly against the trunk of the larger willow. Perfect. He flopped heavily onto his rump. Tongue lolling from his maw, he panted with exertion.

Did he really need to dig out a den? Surely this was good enough, he mused. Of course, it wasn't. However, he wanted to lay down. Not keep working. He was tired, dang it!

"speech"