Every glance at the little flower outside of his den made him happy. Its yellow leaves twinkled in the sunlight, and Hemming imagined that it was pleased to have a reprieve from the rains that had been drowning out its roots in the last few days. He hadn't, in fact, had to water the lily at all, and on a few occasions the wolf had worried that the ground was too filled with water to keep the plant happy. The rain was still coming down, but in the faintest of drizzles that the wolf barely even noticed. It was nothing compared to the hard drops of the last few days, and it gave him a chance to do something he hadn't had much time to do lately. Though the happy greeting of the flower had been something that he looked forward to each morning as he stumbled out of his den, the tall wolf was worried that one day he would forget it was there and, god forbid, step upon it and break its fragile stem. For this reason, he had collected a few thick sticks, and the last time he had the opportunity he clutched a handful of little nails. There was an extra hammer and a knife, too, and he didn't feel so bad taking them from the little abandoned house.
It was quite a bit to juggle, the fat sticks, sharp nails, the worrisome blade and the heavy hammer, and Hemming carried them carefully. His Spirit Guide, a little willow flycatcher, was nestled in the fur on the top of his head, keeping a little patch of skin warm and quite dry. They walked through the tall grasses of Serena Reserve, the wolf's eyes moving across the ground in a search for a little patch of grass that wasn't completely soaked after the many days of rain. Even if this was a difficult task, Hemming was pleased that at least the grasses and little flowers seemed to be happy, their leaves and stalks sturdy with the water they had sipped from the generous soil.
At last, the AniWayan spotted a suitable patch of ground and sat down, crossing his legs and laying his things out in front of him. Dagrun seemed to just be waking up, and she peered sleepily out from the crown of the wolf's head. Something must have caught her attention, because she jumped up and flitted away with only a little cheep of warning. Perhaps, in this weather, the bugs were out and tastier than ever. It might be a good day to stretch one's wings, too. Either way, the wolf let her drift away with little thought, knowing that she would be back, though he mourned the fading of the warmth she had given.
He started his task systematically, peeling the bark off the sticks and sorting them into two piles based on their size. Hemming didn't need anything exceptionally sturdy or visually attractive, but it would be good to have a fence that was at least a little bit of each. The wolf hummed a bit as he worked, his voice drifting along the notes of a song that had no words.