When solid ground grows soft with emerald moss and rivulets of black mud, and coffee-colored water pours slowly around the trunks of densely carpeted trees, this marks the beginning of Laod Mor: the swamp of Blossom Forest. Time itself seems to slow to a soporific crawl . . . the humid jungle air grows stagnant, thick with the scent of rich flooded earth and an abundance of green things that can be found nowhere else—except perhaps Caidir Olc. In some areas of the swamp, water rises so high the only way to cross it is to crawl across fallen logs or massive roots arching from their liquid beds; in other places a wolf might wade easily through the mire—or find a fortunate stretch of mostly dry earth. Pieces of the great river, Glaesfaet Sceawere, also slice through from time to time: small falls that feed into surprisingly clear pools, only to terminate into tar-like pits. Of course, Laod Mor’s beauty shines brightest at night. Here, fireflies gather at all times of the year . . . suffusing the shadowy place with millions of twinkling lights.

Those looking to hunt here of course find a myriad of water prey, including caiman, turtles, fish, crayfish, otters, and toads.

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I look up when I notice movement somewhere off to the side, my gaze snapping back to reality as I blink a few times and focus on the male who appears. I can tell instantly that he's in a lot of pain, my expression softening as I watch him limp toward the falls. He seems to be on a mission even as I part my lips, about to ask if he needs any assistance. I don't want to offend him by making it sound like he can't get anywhere without help but I also don't want to just sit here while he limps in obvious pain to wherever he's going. As he walks beneath the falls, I start to warn him away from it, sure that he'll get swept into the pool but instead he almost seems soothed by the water hitting his spine. He slowly lies down buthis eyes keep finding me time and again and I feel my cheek flush a little, my head ducking in a wave of shyness.

As I get a closer look, I can see that his eye sare more silver than they should be. Cataracts? He must be quite aged then. You don't see many wolves who live long enough to get cataracts. His smile is warming and I find myself smiling back as my ears prick forward. "Hello there. My name's Arwen." I wait for him to introduce himself before I tilt my head a little, golden eyes bright and curious. "Do you live in a pack nearby? I'm from Cold Summers myself."


Arwen_female_adult_no ties_no children_Cold Summers



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