The summer was at its highest peak, though the days of the blistering heat had slipped by, leaving cooler evenings and moderate afternoons of comfortable warmth. The rain was inconsistent, too, often hitting like a tempest, then petering off for days on end. The wind smelled of hay and the promise of a good harvest.
It was in this time, the first afternoon of august, that Dragon found himself on the edge of the down, bored out of his wits. He sat, looking out over the whole world for signs of danger. Nothing Elil seemed to come up here, save for the occasional hawk. The Hlessi might have been able to see his huge, dark figure on the down and they kept at bay too. So even on guard duty, he had much time to take in the view.
It was an array of purple hills and deep rolling countryside. It was vast, and as beautiful as the day he'd first seen it...but even the view was boring these days. The change of season at least brought about some interesting colours. Green on green was good for eating, for seeing danger, but for little else.
The farm he had come from was visible just over a ridge. He had it in his mind to lead a group down there one day, to raid the garden the little girl tortured him in with her skipping rope leash and her garments. But there wasn't much flay-rah, and the farm was a death-place for bunnies. He could smell blood on the air from his hutch, and the grinding of some unseen beast sounded whenever it came about. He had been kept alive because he bred well with the others brought to his cage...how many of his children, unseen, unnamed, had died in that place?
He didn't miss it, that was for sure. But he did miss his mates. They came time and again. Hrair times over the season changes, and Hrair mates in total. He had no time to rescue them and he often found himself wondering how they were getting along. A long stretch of his forepaws and a flick of his ears and he was back to business, watching the endless nothing of the afternoon.
