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.


I miss calling you m i n e {Cordelia//Morgin}


Empty. That’s how the ghost felt—Empty. Nothing could quell the desire to find someone or something to occupy his time. His duty as a sentry was fulfilling, but he wanted more and it seemed that being Beta would have occupied his time quite well if there was more activity. But the pack was quiet and silence echoed around the ghostly knight’s singular form. The King had disappeared within and outside of the pack simultaneously, making it impossible for the ghost to pin him down. And even harder were his progeny Lucaya, Signless and Thyrius. He had neither seen nor scented the heirs since the pack meeting and he had yet to meet Signless. Who was rumored to be quiet the sexist, per say, but the silent sentry was bound to see for himself what this Prince was really like. He could only hope that the rumors proved false, for the Prince’s and his family’s sake. But what was the point in lingering on thoughts that might never turn into reality.

Pierce moved with lithe silence through Spring Grounds, his pale pelt gleaming in the moon’s light. His paws stepped with practiced ease and stealth. He knew the land like back of his paw, and the pack members were his individual claws that were part of the land—his paw. Pierce crested the hill at a steady canter, his three beat steps a soothing cadence to his ears. The Oak tree loomed into the black night sky; its color was changing from green to red, orange and gold. It was the first signs of winter’s approach, but it was preceded by the cool autumn days. The gentle breeze swirled through the tree and the leaves rustled, whispering to Pierce. The ghostly Beta looked up in amusement and laughed to himself, the tree was his only company nowadays. Pierce smiled and padded to the base of the tree and looked up through its branches. Twinkling stars were scattered through the Oak’s leaves drawing Pierce’s attention for a little bit longer as he studied them. His embers reflected the gentle moonlight, giving them a whitish tint. He longed to reach up and touch the stars. He dreamed of bringing one to earth and holding the small, twinkling ball of light in his paws. Pierce shook his head and chuckled to himself, such ridiculous ideas, but it made him happy. A feeling he hadn’t truly felt in a long while. Pierce sat for a few more hours studying the moon and stars, watching them begin to fade into the dawn before he rose to explore.

The sentry cantered quietly through the dawn, the sun rising slowly at his back. The tree’s loomed in the distance but his lithe stilts carried him to the safety of the brush within minutes. The thorns tugged at his pelt as his padded through, combing his ivory fur into a more acceptable look. The babbling creek came back into view and Pierce smiled inwardly. Maybe he could enjoy the morning rays in peace this time. Ghostly paws stepped into the creek and continued onwards to the falls—Staircase Falls.

He arrived within the hour, his paws gliding quietly through the pristine water. Pierce climbed with ease down the stepping stones beside the falls, the water gently splashing droplets onto his pelt. He stepped onto the bank of the creek into the morning rays. His body naturally assuming the sentry position with his tail curled lightly over his paws and his lids closed, hiding his tiger embers from prying eyes. Other sensory organs started to kick in, his hearing was amplified while his ability to scent to became immaculate. Nothing would get by him.

"Optimism is fatal in my experience," He growls.

{Pierce} :: {Brute} :: {Adult} :: {Tied to None} :: {Beta of Spring Grounds} :: {Related to None}


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