if there was ever a time to get back into old habits, it would be now. Their wing was healing nicely, a awareness to the bones knitting together day by day by the soft itch that Argus knew not to scratch. Still, they hosteled their shoulders every now and then, rolling where the wing joints attached each day, feeling out the sore left wing and extending the right fully. Preening had never been a chore. Teeth running between soft feathers and spitting out sand every few seconds. A reputation that woke them up slowly, soft and quiet. A start to the evening and the rest of the day.

Today they needed a distraction, something to alleviate their running- reckless mind, something that couldn't be chased away with open skies or into digging a den to leave their paws bloody. They pulled a bone from their last kill, Cleaning it before setting to work. Between careful incisors and white paws, the wolf rest near camp, gnawing designs into a bone. Marrow carved away with careful slow work.