The next day arrived with the soft, golden rays of sunrise filtering through the cracks in the wooden walls, painting stripes of light across Sol's face. He didn't care. He burrowed deeper into the furs, intending to sleep until noon. His body felt heavy in a good way… satiated and relaxed.
But peace was a luxury in the primitive world.
His newly sensitive ears twitched. The sound of rustling fabric, the clinking of stone tools, and hushed whispers cut through his sleep like a knife.
Sol frowned and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He saw the silhouettes of Lyra and the three girls bustling around, preparing baskets and sharpening digging sticks.
"You're leaving?" Sol asked, his voice rough with sleep.
Lyra turned, startled. "Go back to sleep, Sol. We are just going foraging near the perimeter."
Sol threw the furs off, standing up. "I'll go too. I told you, I need to—"
