A woodpecker broke the dawn with the hammering of its bill, a clat-clat-clat-clatter that split the air and echoed off the hills.  Bees droned in the growing pockets of sunlight, floating from one wildflower to another. The shadows crept back to the pines, seeming blown along by the light breeze that whistled through the grass. Two Woolynes slept at the edge of a woodland in Orilon, their rough camp overlooking the valley.  One lay on his belly, arms folded under his shaggy head, crowned in a string of pink flowers.  Soft snoring sounds came from his saber-toothed muzzle, the sound harmonizing with the bees and other insects. The other curle