this is a mercy ;; - " />

Once this place used to hold the yin and yang scenery of Blossom Field. Now, there are miles of winding tundra. To the north, this tundra is cruel and dry, with wisping weaves of tall grasses. The ground is cracked and cold, and it hardly is ever moistened by dearly desired rainfall. To the south, the tundra becomes more prosperous - meadows of flowers and herbs grace the ground. Part of this connects near Elebeam Weargtreow - however it is an impassible field of poppy, which will put any wolf trying to cross it into a deep slumber, and eventually die.

Those looking to hunt here will find mice, snakes, and rabbits, along with pronghorns, bison, and javalinas.


this is a mercy ;;

Sylux found himself running, creamy-hued stilts working at full force, pupils wide within their amber puddles. Breath came fast from his lungs, in and out, burning his throat as it rushed between his mouth and his chest. The mottled creature flicked an ear, looking around hesitantly, always alert as his heart beat a furious rhythm against his ribcage. Why? Why was he running? Was it a nightmare he was fleeing, a chase, a natural disaster? The boy himself didn’t know anymore, couldn’t remember; all he could remember was terror swirling around his mind like a great storm cloud. Escape, escape his brain cried, primal instinct taking over where reason usually ruled, driving his legs to swing faster and his muscles to release quicker. Run, afraid, escape...

The neutral-painted brujo finally came crashing to a halt, exhaustion taking over his skinny frame, his throat numb. His muzzle pointed to the brown terra, ocular muscles beginning to relax, calm once again beginning to enter his skeleton. The logical man that Sylux was returned, driving away the fear for now. He was safe; he was in a new land, far away from his past. The brute drew in one final breath, exhaling loudly, before raising his gaze. What greeted him was a vast painting of vibrant color, a sight that nearly took his breath away if he were still not heaving from the sprint. Flowers of every type grew before his paws, reds and yellows, whites and blues, the greens of their leaves and stems rooting the scenery to the earth. He felt a great peace come over his soul, and for the first time in many moons he forgot completely about the horrors of his pack, the tragedies of his past. He blinked slowly, moved. He took time to just stand, taking in the landscape before him, letting it wash over him like a great sea.

When he finally started moving, it was in the direction of a modest tree within the center of the meadow, the shade under its branches an appealing location at the current moment. He felt poppies and daisies brush against his flanks as he walked, salt and pepper fur swaying in the strong breeze that had kicked up. He breathed it in, allowing his orbs to close against the front of it. Yes, he could get used to this place. He took his time reaching the wooden monolith, steps slow but deliberate, enjoying the feeling of fresh vegetation between his toes. He reached the shade at last and stopped, staring back at the edge of the forest from which he came, deciding in that moment he would try to work past the unfortunate events of his history. If only Sylux knew what was to come, he wouldn’t be that optimistic. Mindlessly circling the tree’s base, the ivory hessian managed to stop short just before plowing muzzle-first into another lupine. He backpedaled nervously, the madness for earlier beginning to edge into his vision once more, but he swallowed it down. His tail tucked out of reflex, cranium lowering, body curving in on himself, clearly showing the other wolf that he meant no harm and posed little threat. Sylux was no coward, but he knew how to avoid confrontation. Hopefully this other wolf was feeling gracious. Lyrics soon fell from his mouth, his tone holding the mark of his age and intellect. “I apologize m’lady, I fear I did not notice you taking your repose beneath this tree. I shall leave you to your solitude. He bowed his skull once more, attempting to make eye contact before he decided to leave, never passing up the opportunity for a good conversation no matter how slim the chances.

- - -

"We can but watch and wait for our doom."


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