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Mist clung to the last vestiges of night, transforming the rising sun’s visual aspect into a bright full moon. The old wolf huffed, her breath joining the mist. The twilight hunters would be out, cats and their ilk. She shook the dew condensing on her fur loose.
She did love days like today, when her joints did not creak, her belly was full, and her pack was safe. The tree beckoned as the perfect place to sleep the day away, cool shade once the last of the mist burned off, soft green grass. She could wake a dozen times, search her surroundings for trespassers, and lay her muzzle back on her paws for another nap.
Let the young ones do their day duties. The three nights of full moon consumed all her energies.
(words 135; first published 6/26/2016)