Ienrir

The moon hung low in the sky, it's ghostly glow casting the forest below in hues of silver. Its light caught the silhouette of a large tom as he weaved through the trees, tracing the familiar path to the stillest part of the river. He made this journey each time the moon was quartered, slinking out in the dead of night when the skies were clear and dark. Each pawstep he took seemed purposeful, particular, as though part of some unseen pattern drawn into the dirt. Anyone watching would likely notice how the tom intentionally stepped wherever the moonlight broke through the trees, artfully avoiding being cast in shadow. StarClan lights my path.