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He wasn’t back yet. Hunched close to the entrance of their small metal den, Whiskey’s auburn nose was the only thing that peeked out, rain trickling over and down her muzzle. Her brown eyes searched through the rain, through the grass, even as far as she could see along the horizon. The rain was a deluge of gray and mist, and her eyes struggled to see deep through it; she couldn’t se...

“‘S getting heavy out there,” He remarked, quiet and soft. In his small alcove in the far back of her den, Areca flicked his ears up, then back again. The sand cat huddled himself closer against the back of the wall, his eyes dilated in the dark. He saw far better than she did, but he wasn’t about to sit closer to the entrance like she did. She had a thicker coat than him; she was more than welcome to the rain....