Sol sat on the thick fur pelt in his new quarters. He cycled his breathing, mentally reviewing the intricate rhythm of the Breath of Dawn technique he had just acquired. He needed the actual sunrise to initiate the true absorption, but mapping the internal pathways beforehand saved crucial time.
The night was heavy, the kind of stillness that preceded a storm.
But the Great Orrath, it seemed, was a world that abhorred stillness.
Just as the deepest, coldest part of the night settled over the Feline Spire… that heavy, breathless hour when everyone and everything seemed to be enjoying the slumber… Sol's heightened senses twitched.
