The light had returned, chasing shadows away from the surfaces of the realm, yet some shadows were not so easily deterred. Sluggishly moving about the Wilds a dog and his long standing friend, a small cheerful dragon.

The fire had returned to the belly of the reptile, welcomed with a fireball which had singed the tips of Osiris's ears. The rare occasion that Comadre actually used his fire usually in defense of the wolf, but now it had brought about a new joke for the playful little brat to laugh about ceaseless. Thankfully, the rest of the caustic fire had flown literally above the hybrid's head, or we may have been dealing with far more damage than a couple of blackened hairs and a bruised ego.

The sun rose high in the sky, causing the thick mat of fur that kept the stallion warm in the winter to be more like an oppressive blanket he could not remove. Clumps of fur had been scratched out on trees, fell off willingly along the way, but the wolf still did not have the short cropped, sleek coat of many horses. Coarse hairs clung to his underbelly, thick and full. Stretching up his neck toward the bottom of his head, the beard which he had endured most of his life was only vitalized with age. Months turned to years, and years turned to a thick beard and grumpy attitude.

Many creatures of his age would likely be suffering from the arthritic joints of the elderly, succombing to the rough tear of the wilds. Instead, Osiris remained lively in body, despite his increasingly crotchety personality. Perhaps due to his odd lineage and diet, time appeared to have little effect on the limber giant as of yet. In his chest, however, the stallion became more aware that eventually age would catch up to him. Introspective, curious, and now viewing life with a clear lense, the wolf began to realize he had given little to the world in return for the time he spent upon it.

Few friends, little family, and no lovers or children of which to speak. When the clock finally wound to a close on him, what would be left behind?
A sad smile facing a grim future. Comadre chrips abruptly.

"Ooooooooooooooooooooooppppppppphhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeee," he purrs into the air before small, taut wings race forward toward a gleaming white body. The tell-tale tips of crimson bring a more cheerful smile of recognition to the old, furred face. Picking his pace to a graceful lope, the hybrid makes his way to the side of the girl he had not seen since her exit from the Foothills.

"Long time no see, friend," he greets, nudging a muzzle out toward her shoulder in a short greeting, a gruff tug of his lips. "You look tired."