Dusk, outside

[scots_wolf]

Urquhart is outside, watching the early sunset.

He's not shooting anything right now. The black fur rug he was making is finished.

Instead, he stands, with a mug of mulled wine in his hands, feet planted deep in the snow, and watches the daylight fade into the odd brownish yellow typical for snow clouds, and then, darkness falling, along with more snow.

It settles on his shoulders and in his hair.

Comments

[young_womble]

"I don't think so." Wellington says.

"If this is leading to the Where Do Baby Wombles Come From question, I don't know the answer."

His mun's mum reckons that other Wombles build them from scrap.

[scots_wolf]

"Well, yes, that's what I was aiming for," Urquhart admits.

[young_womble]

"I asked once. Bungo put a fake egg in my bed and I thought I'd laid it."

[scots_wolf]

"That was a mean trick to play on you," Urquhart says, trying not to grin.

[young_womble]

"I think they'll tell me when I'm older."

[scots_wolf]

"Hopefully," Urquhart says, smiling.