She hadn't seen Machiavelli in some time, it seemed everyone was always on their way somewhere. Their paws carrying them forward even while they spoke, eyes wandering to distant horizons. Thoughts occupied by places they had not yet reached and problems that had not yet happened — it looked exhausting.

Lull, however; lay stretched beneath the shade of an old tree, sunlight filtering through the leaves created shifting patterns across her fur. A patch of sweet clover grew nearby, berries hung heavily from thorned branches down the slope and the river sang softly in the distance. This was a good place, a very good place. Letheia sighed happily, rolling onto her side exposing her belly to the warmth of the sun.

A faint smile tugged at her muzzle, what more could anyone possibly need?

Sooner or later someone would pass through, someone always did. A traveler. A hunter. A wanderer carrying too many worries in their chest and she could almost picture them already. And eventually, if fortune smiled upon her, she would witness her favorite moment, when their shoulders relaxed and their breathing eased. It was the best part, because she could not understand why everyone insisted on carrying their burdens so tightly when the world offered so many lovely places to set them down.

With this comforting thought, she laid her head back and watched the clouds roll overhead.

—
Varek