Enocra Woodland

Pine, spruce and firs alike...
Dense coniferous forests cover the woodlands, with clearings, paths and the occasional wildberry shrub throughout. Pine, spruce and fir make up much of the forest in the east, with the forest becoming swampier in the west towards Mecor Valley. In the west, cypress trees dominate, with fallen trees creating bridges across and throughout the stillwaters.

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the clouds above will sing
IP: 24.180.158.216



Windsong, by no means, was aged and wise. There was still a bit of naive vitality that rippled through her blood, and the curse of youth still hazed her better judgment at times. But she was an experienced little she-wolf. The years of wandering, although few, had a strange effect on who Windsong became. Inability to trust built one wall, combined with the wariness of strangers and the constant alertness required as a lone wolf, all chalked into one being. Windsong, herself, was not a raging optimist.

The curious thing about Exodus was she knew he must've been through life. A wolf does not travel and experience sunshine and rainbows through an endless consistency. No, the world is not constructed as such. But, despite, the hardiness of existing, Exodus still chose to see sunshine. And Windsong appreciated that. Most wolves would opt for pessimism, and their bland outlook on life would be justified.


"I like that. I like those words," Windsong told Exodus, her tail wagging. "Perhaps I'll use them one day....and I will sound wise." Her honey gold eyes danced.


Her focus then came on the fact that Exodus was far more experienced in Moladion that Windsong could ever hope to be. In fact, Exodus was now becoming the she-wolf's best bet in furthering her existence in this new land. So far, Windsong had yet to be driven out, and nothing had killed her (yet). Shuffling her paws a bit, Windsong tried to think up the multitude of questions she ought to be asking.


"If you don't mind me asking...how safe am I here? Are the wolves here as savage as they are elsewhere?" Windsong quizzically prompts. She had come a long way, and the wariness that set in her young bones from wandering was growing heavy. Perhaps settling down wasn't a poor idea. If that did not fit her fancy, she'd eventually wander off again. But she was going to give Moladion an eager try.






Windsong. Female. 3 years. No imprint. No mate. Loner.









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