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It was dawn. Ash’s ears twitched, and then his nose wiggled, and then his sneeze escaped. He groaned softly and opened his eyes. Where was he? Why was he so cold?

Abruptly everything flooded back and he scrambled to his hooves. Here he was, the only herbivore on a hill full of carnivores, and he was sleeping. SLEEPING! Thank goodness they’d all been to upset to bite his throat. Yet another good thing that had come of the she-wolf’s death.

That was unkind, Ash scolded himself. They’re grieving.

The mink was already up and staring at the slowly ascending sun. His dark eyes seemed to drink in every detail and he seemed undisturbed by Ash’s sneeze.

Deciding it was time to make friends, Ash ambled over and dipped his head to pull up some tender grass. Out of the corner of his eyes he glanced at the mink. “Mornin’,’ he mumbled.

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