When the beasts arriving at the waterfall were reduced to only a few small, emaciated, and sickly creatures, Rowan finally stopped his hands, wiping the soaking sweat from his forehead.
Aside from harvesting a bountiful amount of prey, he could also clearly feel that the environmental temperature had dropped slightly, no longer maintaining the scorching, flesh-burning level of over forty degrees. The hot winds blowing past had somewhat lessened their harshness, carrying a slight breath of the changing seasons.
Owen's active hours had also lengthened; he no longer fell into a sluggish, exhaustedly sleepy state right when the sun rose high, and his spirits were significantly more uplifted.
