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Most mornings were rather nice in Sleepless' solitary bower, that little stretch of misty marsh where she hid alone to study all she could of the Motherfather's bountiful treasures, but this morning was particularly nice. Her carefully dissected (no mean feat for an ungulate, but a sharpened shell carefully held between teeth could do wonders if you knew where to cut) and preserved specimen seemed to bid her good morn as she checked upon their condition in turn, and her sprawling herb (well, mostly herbs...) garden was lush and spilling, almost eager to be plucked.
Ah, yes, it was a glorious morning indeed, nice and quiet, not the cry of a Kin about for miles. The sort of morning that heralded a day filled with much progress in her never-ending research.
The sort of morning that Sleepless verily lived for.
Wonderful.