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.

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Veiled in black
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He knows that leaving could have been a mistake, but it isn't one that he feels that badly about. "There seems to be so much that I have yet to learn." Carmine flecked sapphire eyes glance back over the waves, away from the girl who had come across him, and watched the horizon and rippling watery surface. He wonders if maybe she sees the same thing as he does, or if maybe her view was somehow different. His mother had said something like that once, that a sunset to one wolf looked like hope but to another it may look like blood clouding the sky. He knows that he is looking away out of shyness, that he's still struggling to not be chained down by that inherent weakness.

He can imagine that there is nothing wrong with the world like this, by hiding himself away from conflict and anything ugly he didn't really want to see. He can almost imagine that wolves didn't kill each other in senseless violence, that nobody was crying of fear and sorrow in the world. He could almost forget about his home on the mountain, about the way he was a runaway heir. But every time it grew dark, he was always reminded. He remembered his mother and his father, and the stories that they used to tell him. "Anastasia... Somehow, I think your name suits you." He doesn't know why or how it does, and he doesn't mind that she has come closer, because she doesn't drive his shyness into tenseness and the need to put distance between them.

He doesn't mind her closeness maybe because come night he would be alone again, hidden somewhere in the lands of sleeping dreams and daemons. His head would be filled with the stories handed down to him from generations before, of the voices of everyone he once knew. Always when he slept, with the sky painted as dark as his fur, always the same dreams. He allows his gaze to fall once more upon Anastasia, wondering what stories lived in her mind, what secrets haunted her sleep. "I came from a great mountain pack. It was surrounded on all sides by thick rocky crags and mountains, with ridges up to the sky. As a child, I would always imagine that it was impenetrable and that we were the only ones alive in this world."

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