Peter the squirrel woke up more peaceful than he had been in a long time. He slowly fell out of the night's last dream, some concoction from his imaginings of Scandinavia and its fauna. He untangled himself from his pet wolf, sat on the side of the bed and bathed in the cool-orange glow of his den.

No yesterday, no tomorrow.

His withered paw did not bother him as it usually does in the morning. It was there, but it did not seem to matter that much, so pleasant was his mood.