A length of thick rope tethered him to a heavy iron stake sunk deep into the soil — the kind used to keep stubborn cattle or goats from straying too far. He slowly chewed a piece of dry straw, his expression as sour as ever. Shadow sat hunched at the far edge of the pasture, one hoof lazily propped against the sun-warmed stone he'd dragged closer with a kick.

The open yard gave him more space than a pen would’ve, but he still managed to make the whole field feel smaller with the sheer weight of his glowering silence. He didn’t bother looking up when the wind rustled or when the occasional insect buzzed by — didn’t need to. His ears twitched at every sound, one pierced by a dull metal tag, the skin beneath faintly discolored around an old, half-finished brand: a curling S, like someone had tried to mark him but gave up halfway through.

His eyes slid toward the nearest tree, where a blue hedgehog figure lay asleep in the shade, legs stretched, hat pulled down low over his face. Shadow's disapproving stare could’ve curdled milk. That was his temporary "observer" — some cocky cowboy with goat-herding experience, judging by the crooked staff lying in the grass beside him. The idiot hadn’t even bothered tying his boots properly. Just left him here, like a common grazing animal, while he napped in the sun.