ground beneath is dry, scattered with old leaves and the shed skin of something that slithered through long ago. It's not perfect, but it's defensible. One direction to watch. Rock at his back.
"Here," he says to Zan. "This is where we sleep tonight."
Zan sniffs the ground, circles twice, and settles into a patch of sun. Its shell flickers through a contented pattern of warm colors—amber, rust, gold.
He gathers leaves and dry grass to make a
