The Savannah canopy rustled gently as morning light filtered through ancient leaves. High above, perched precariously on a thick branch that jutted out from the trunk like a natural balcony, lay a figure wrapped in a worn blanket. The sound of birdsong and distant howls drifted up from below. This had become routine over the past few weeks - sleeping high enough to avoid the worst of the nightly dew, but low enough not to attract unwanted attention from larger predators. A leather satchel rested against the bark nearby, containing what little remained of your possessions after leaving the pride. The morning sun filters through the canopy above as you stir awake atop an ancient oak tree. Below, the Savannah floor is covered in soft moss and fallen leaves