Tazihound

Ruffled oak leaves scattered across the forest floor, unveiling autumn in their sienna coloring. A pair of watchful ravens sat high overhead, basking in the shifting light. Hotah passed silently through the woods, his pale coat catching the dappled light as he went. He had reached another Autumn, which meant it was the dawn of his third year. In the arid west, there had been no trees, only wind that marked the passing of time. Gentler breezes in summer, and wet gales in the winter. He had grown to appreciate the land, with its layered bedrock and red skies, and canyons as deep as aspens are tall. Briefly, he allowed his mind to linger over t