It was the hour when the forest holds its breath.
The raccoon had been walking since midnight — paws damp from the moss, nose full of pine and cold earth. No destination. Just the pull of something ahead, something he couldn't name.
He climbed. Through roots twisted like old code, past stones that had been there before anyone thought to name them. The trees thinned. The sky opened.
And then — at the exact edge of the ridge — the world cracked open with gold.
He sat very still. The sun rose slow and enormous over the valley below, painting everything it touched in amber. He'd seen darkness his whole life. He hadn't known it was just the sky waiting for a reason to burn.
He didn't move for a long time. Neither will you.
Contributing
Issues and suggestions are welcome at github.com/Nocturne-themes/nocturne-raccoon.