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 Forestís 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.


Veiled in black

Time seemed slower and the sounds all around seemed hushed, everything just remaining in a sort of suspended sense of peace and quiet. How long would such peace last? If he had learned any one thing from the world, it was that peace never truly lasted forever, because sooner or later someone somewhere starts to go absolutely power hungry. Someone else would have some piece of land they wanted, or maybe even someone they wanted. They would start a war of packs, and never stop until someone died and they gained the thing that they won. Hot liquid blood would be tasted on the tongue, and spilled all over the grasses and rocks. All wars are largely the same, and all they ever do is hurt someone somewhere.

Wars shattered families, and ripped packs in half. It corrupts the minds of some, eradicates entire families from existence, leaves nothing but death and gore in it's wake. Here where he gazes over the rippling waters stretched out almost endlessly, he feels like none of that exists anymore. That he wasn't a heir to a throne from mountainous lands he had run from, that he had never been destined for anything great. That he would have never been expected to defend a pack and territory with his own bared fangs, and slowly but surely gained battle scars beneath his handsome coat. He was never a prince in these lands, but neither is he a traitor. He thinks he prefers to be a stranger in these lands so strange, free from being tied down by expectations and responsibilities.

"Everything would be interesting to someone who has never been here, wouldn't you say?" There were undoubtedly still so many places to discover, but he thinks that he can appreciate this place just fine. He could see it becoming a favorite haunt of his, maybe make a den somewhere here, since it was so soothing to his mind. Here there were surely no wars, no ghosts of wolves pas


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