Dawn. Nicodemus squinted against the light bleeding through the window to his den and wondered why he'd bothered to build such a thing. Probably because he'd been too lazy to find something to patch the hole with. Groaning, he curled into a ball, reaching over to pull his bag up, hiding his face with it. He really didn't see what appealed so much to some of the others about sitting up and watching the sunrise. For him, it was just a particularly rude way to wake up. Unwilling to get up and start the day, Nicodemus remained curled up among his blankets, thoughtful.
The silence of the room was broken with a sound that brought about an abrupt change in the bagbean, and he sat up, eyes snapping open. A howl. He'd heard a howl. Yet after several more minutes of silence the sound did not repeat itself, and Nicodemus looked gloomily down at the dark button eyes of his bag. Perhaps he'd been dreaming. He had to have been. After all, everyone knew there were no wolves in Griffia