Imprisoned in the cottage and let out only for short, supervised trips to gather wood, Ephraim hadn’t had the chance to explore much of AniWaya territory. Even now, trotting on four legs beside the languid creek, there was an air of vigilance and discomfort about him. His ears were down, his fluffy half-curled tail swishing close to his hocks, his brown eyes furtive. He wasn’t quite sure what was going on in the Tribe; he’d slipped away after the raid long enough to see his new friend get home, and after that, he’d been more or less in hiding. He was pretty sure that the Guardians and the tyrant Maska were no longer threats, but he still exercised caution as he snuck south from the village.
The peacefulness of the water soothed him as he paused to look at it, head doggishly cocked and lips faintly upturned. He remembered playing in streams like this before he’d been cut, floundering about in shallow ponds and grinning at slow-moving rivers. He’d thrown sticks into the current, finding sweet fast spots so that he could win bets against his friends when they raced. The memories were sweet and distant, and he let them swim for a while before gently dismissing them and padding along again.
It wasn’t long before the sight of a cavern grabbed his attention. He hadn’t seen anything like this along the main river, and immediately he bounded forward in order to check it out. His lupus form left no worry about hitting his head as he sloshed through the water into the formation, long pale belly fur dripping. Head tilted back, he looked at the stalactites clinging to the ceiling, smiling until a drop of water fell into his eye.
All around him the water was dripping. He flinched when he heard the first droplet break on the floor, a quiet ping that made him turn his head. Another shortly followed, this one echoing eerily. And as he sat down, even more water dripped, creating a quiet cadence against the silence of his day.
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