The sun had only just begun to rise, but Sawyer had been awake for hours. He stood blinking in the bright golden warmth of sunrise, surrounded by a sea of swaying grass. From his lips hung the battered carcass of a small bird, with one limp wing pinned between his teeth.

He had grown thin, since leaving his home; his skin hung loose on rigid bones. Food was not easy to come by, as a lone wolf. Still, he had always enjoyed drawing out his meals. There was no point in eating at all, if he couldn't savor each morsel of flesh.

Sawyer dropped his feathery meal and yawned. The sunlight rested heavily on his lashes, and the urge to sleep was pulling at him impatiently. The thin black wolf gave his plush coat a heavy shake, trying to wake his weary muscles. Perhaps he would take a nap, here in this sun-bathed field of soft grass, with the little bird tucked safely under his chin.

Sawyer studied the ground, as if contemplating whether he wanted to eat or sleep first. His life was impossibly simple -- to eat, to sleep, and to do nothing else. Such was his paradise.

But that wasn't to say he didn't crave conversation. He was still a social animal, and at times in between his napping and snacking, he would feel a pang of emptiness. It wasn't natural to go on this way, alone. He knew the satisfaction of living so simply would wear away eventually, and he would suffer for it.

Perhaps there are gods out there who look for opportunities to create beautiful irony -- or perhaps luck simply had a way of finding Sawyer wherever he went. Whatever the case, it was at that moment (just when it occurred to him how dreary his present solitary situation was) that a rustle of an approaching animal caught Sawyer's attention. All thoughts of sleeping and eating vanished definitively from his mind. He turned, ears pricked, tail wagging slowly and softly, and a little smirk curled easily at the corners of his lips.