Once this place used to hold the yin and yang scenery of Blossom Field. Now, there are miles of winding tundra. To the north, this tundra is cruel and dry, with wisping weaves of tall grasses. The ground is cracked and cold, and it hardly is ever moistened by dearly desired rainfall. To the south, the tundra becomes more prosperous - meadows of flowers and herbs grace the ground. Part of this connects near Elebeam Weargtreow - however it is an impassible field of poppy, which will put any wolf trying to cross it into a deep slumber, and eventually die.

Those looking to hunt here will find mice, snakes, and rabbits, along with pronghorns, bison, and javalinas.

Refresh/Reload

brains and brawn [cs]
IP: 74.199.21.5

Nimueh still refused to do more than smirk or sneer at him whenever they happened to cross paths, but Cynbel couldn’t quite bring himself to blame the proud Iberian Empress. He had betrayed her trust and destroyed their once unbreakable friendship, banishing her from her home like a criminal . . . their home, the one they’d grown up in together—as close as siblings despite the different sources of their blood. After his mate died, fatally exhausted after the birth of their pups, the shattered-glass pieces of his broken heart had driven Cyn nearly mad with agony. He could not handle the splintering ache, could not swallow his grief long enough to act like a responsible Alpha, and so he had lashed out at dear, brilliant Nimueh, blaming her for his unspeakable loss. The foolishness of this vicious reaction still stung whenever Cynbel dwelled on it. He picked around the unpleasant memory the way someone might swat at an ugly spider: desperate to crush it, yet fearing its venom. Willpower alone would not erase what he’d done to his best friend, nor force the white-eyed wolfess to forgive him. So what could he do?

Wait. The answer tasted bad in his mouth, a bitter pill, and he grimaced as his large paws picked over the terra. Cynbel didn’t like waiting for things he wanted—especially when they hovered right outside his grasp, literally close enough to touch. He closed his saffron portals at night thinking of plots to earn Nimueh’s favor. He replayed their fateful last encounter over and over in his head just before sleep, examining his response from every angle to find a weak point—something he could beg Nim’s forgiveness on. I wasn’t being myself, my heart was broken. I wasn’t thinking. You could have stopped me. You should have argued. I’m sorry. While patrolling, Cyn worked toward joining the Iberian Queen, but she spurned his company. When he invited her to accompany him, her responses were likewise negative. She appeared to enjoy this new power over the ex-alpha . . . the way he inwardly squirmed with his pride still heavy like a chain around his neck. Finally Cynbel needed a break, somewhere outside of Crith Thalmhainn where he could clear his mind of those clever snowflake eyes until a new plot came to him.

The smoky grey brute hiked down the territory’s foothills, watching with fascination as bare red rock slowly became consumed by tall waving grasses and cacti disappeared, replaced by thin trees and scrub. Crith’s desert plateau gradually receded into a wide open prairie that rolled and dipped with hills and valleys. Cyn’s sensitive ears caught stanzas of bright birdsong and the bugling call of deer in the distance; his paws stepped in the tracks of rabbit and bison, intrigued by their disparate shapes and freshness; he could hardly believe that one place could offer so much in terms of environment, and wondered how this diverse world had ever been christened “Blossom Forest.” Cynbel had witnessed both flowers and woods—yet he lived in a canyon the color of sunset, and had reunited with Nimueh on the banks of a clear-glass lake that stretched so far into the horizon its other bank was nearly impossible to discern. Limber legs carried him into a faster canter—and then into a gallop when he noticed the flash of a hare moving through the swaying grass. Hunter instincts slammed online. He couldn’t worry about Nim while chasing a meal.

Imagine the soldier’s shock when, not three seconds into his pursuit, a miniature fae zoomed past him, snarling at the same rabbit as her limbs flailed after it. She apparently had not noticed him at all—her focus totally riveted upon their prey as it dashed to safety. Cynbel pulled up short, slowing his pace so that he might observe her without interfering. The hare zagged into a space of the field where wildflowers and blooming tangles choked out most of the grass, their mixing scents a mouthwatering tapestry for the senses. It was here the unknown wolfess lost their quarry; she threw herself furiously at the earth where the rabbit had dived for cover, tiny claws ripping up clods of dirt. These Cyn avoided carefully as he padded up to her, banner wagging in a gentle, friendly manner while his yellow eyes narrowed in amusement. When the lass eventually gave up and plopped to her haunches, staring out at the blossoms in thought, Cynbel barked once to snare her attention. “Such a shame. You almost had him. Perhaps next time we can try hunting together?”


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