Gone now the thrush, her night song to rest
And on her rowan post, the sparrow
In renewed behest,
Summons her sire the sun from his chamber,
A tawny young daughter, a father of amber.
But his eyes open not for the quarrelsome youngling,
Yet to rise is he, monarch of the day,
While the fox and ermine their last rounds make,
For short the hart their post as guard shall take.
And as filmy night's dissolving pall is cast,
The sun's own fanfare, Aurora Vera at last!
_ **Friday** _ "Nnngh! Almost... there!" Pepper grunted as he strained to bend the stiff carbon-fiber tent pole just enough to fit into the small ring at the base of the tent. The end of the pole finally met with the brass...
Teteu sniffed the smoky air nervously. Clad only in a loincloth, with two red streaks of face paint under each of his eyes and a long braid ending in a feather dangling from his headfur, he...
"How long have I been on this cliff?" the fox said to himself. Clad only in his signature blue long-sleeved leotard and matching knee-length spats on his footpaws, The Blue Bolt was beginning to feel the chill of the night as the wind whipped...