Where once the southern border of Blossom Forest was made by Leisure Lake, the magical rearrangement of the lands has laid there instead a vast, uncrossable ocean. The shore differs as you travel along it. Tall mountainous cliffs arise on the western part and at one point, the large river that runs through Blossom Forest opens up at its tributary into a well sheltered cove. As you come more eastward, the towering peaks shorten into rocky foothills. A large section of the shore is inaccessible to most, as Uyaraut has claimed it as their own. But if you skirt around their territory, the hills disappear, swallowed up into the land until it is as flat as the eye can see. The vibrant greens dull into short and dry browns and tans, and the land dries and cracks apart until it melds into The Waste - the desert that forms Blossom Forest’s easternmost border.

For those looking to hunt here, there are of course the fish within the ocean, along with crabs, seals and urchins. For on the shore, there are seagulls, herons, and ospreys.


Way of the Warrior

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Warriors are not born and they are not made,
Warriors create themselves

Even as he slowed near her, she reacted to his presence and leapt up quicker than he would have thought possible for a wolf who had just been sleeping. She moved away from him just a bit and puffed up her coat so that each hair stood on end. Briefly, Aindreas’ loosely knit together mind had the random thought that he wished his hair could stand up on end – not to be intimidating, but simply to have more freedom of movement. Right now, the blood weighed too heavily upon it and it was stuck being glued down to his body. After he mumbled an incoherent string of sounds and broken words, Aindreas remained silent and instead stared at her with tightly pursed lips, studying her. Just as he had started speaking, her plume had hidden itself and she had backed up even further away from him and Aindreas made no move to try to follow her retreat. Instead he retreated a few steps himself, hoping to make her more comfortable and make up for the way he had frighteningly awoken her. Still, his arctics stared at her through the crimson canvas of his façade and saw her lips move before the sound reached him.


Aindreas opened his own mouth to respond but quickly shut it again. What could he say? What words would ease her fear and explain his situation? Was there any excuse or reason for him to still be covered in blood that would not make him sound crazy? Aindreas scoffed aloud, but it was in response to his own thoughts, not the femme’s. If it had just happened… if he had just killed Jorah he could tell her the truth – ‘I killed a wolf who was trying to kill my father and my brothers, and now I am trying to rinse his blood from me.’ But it had not just happened. Instead, days had taken all moisture from the blood on his pelt, and there would be no rinsing this blood off. It had stained the hairs themselves, and had not merely coated them. He would have to bathe and scrub himself… probably many times… before it would all be gone. Hell, maybe he would have to shed this coat out and grow out a new one… only time would tell. But there were no words that he would be able to say to explain why he had waited so long. Why he had been preoccupied with other thoughts. Why being an alpha was his worst fear come to life.

A-are you hurt?

Her voice was barely audible, just a high pitched stream of words eeking out from between collapsed cords, words spoken to fill the silence that surrounded them, words spoken to dispel the awkward silence caught between them. Aindreas should his head but then paused and nodded. Suddenly, all the aching and pain from his own wounds came back to him. His mind had been elsewhere and had been blocking out the pain but now that her words had addressed it, there was no hiding from it anymore. Involuntarily he flinched and simultaneously, his eyes widened. It was not just pain, he realized, but something more. His open wounds had been basking in the blood and environment, and had been the perfect feeding pool for bacteria. The heat near his injuries signaled it to him… they were infected. Aindreas scoffed again and shook his head, both because of his own stupidity and to shake loose the memories that it brought back to him. Back to another time and another place where he had first met Stormy, covered in wounds from her battle with Lucaya and full of infection. He had bathed her in Romance River, not to woo her, but to help her clean out that very infection. It was then that he had first started to love her and be her knight, even if he had never admitted it to her or anyone else. But that had been years ago… and now she was gone.

And he was no longer anyone’s knight… he was a King. And so far, a piss-poor one.

Aindreas opened his maw again and coughed to clear his vocals. Just as he used to be, his throat was dry and raw from disuse of his voice, and when he finally did speak his deep timber was roughened. “I have a few wounds, but most of this blood is… not mine.” He averted his eyes. He was lucky indeed that he did not have even more wounds, given Jorah’s end, but he was not entirely proud of what he had done. Yes, he had saved his family… but he had taken a life. “I am fine though. And… I am sorry I disturbed you.

Through trial and error, pain and suffering,
And their ability to conquer their own faults

|| Ivoro || Aurora Borealis Alpha || Lonely Heart || Drizzt, Pandora, Sin, Famous, Psycho ||


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