When solid ground grows soft with emerald moss and rivulets of black mud, and coffee-colored water pours slowly around the trunks of densely carpeted trees, this marks the beginning of Laod Mor: the swamp of Blossom Forest. Time itself seems to slow to a soporific crawl . . . the humid jungle air grows stagnant, thick with the scent of rich flooded earth and an abundance of green things that can be found nowhere else—except perhaps Caidir Olc. In some areas of the swamp, water rises so high the only way to cross it is to crawl across fallen logs or massive roots arching from their liquid beds; in other places a wolf might wade easily through the mire—or find a fortunate stretch of mostly dry earth. Pieces of the great river, Glaesfaet Sceawere, also slice through from time to time: small falls that feed into surprisingly clear pools, only to terminate into tar-like pits. Of course, Laod Mor’s beauty shines brightest at night. Here, fireflies gather at all times of the year . . . suffusing the shadowy place with millions of twinkling lights.

Those looking to hunt here of course find a myriad of water prey, including caiman, turtles, fish, crayfish, otters, and toads.

Refresh/Reload

Fate won't be your friend when I'm around (open)
IP: 74.141.235.32

As he watched time go by, it seemed that life rose from the ashes. I was almost funny, the way nothing refused to lie down and stay dead. Sometimes things happened quickly and other times it dragged on slowly, but he always views it the same. Sometimes it reminds him of how old he is, and how age doesn't always matter in the clockwork maze of life. Things were always changing, whether or not anyone wanted them to. The world around him would continue it's changes, even if he himself did not change with it. He cannot help those who cannot change, even the bad luck that always followed on his heels like a wraith. The world shifts around him and the futile struggles of other wolves raged on, as everything changed around him as it always has. He didn't want to bother with any of it, didn't think she should have to. It was starting to get old real fast, the pull in his gut to see if he could change his own luck.

Everything was changing, and not all of it was good. He remained by himself, though that doesn't stop him from keeping watch of the goings on of the lands. Today he feels the coffee colored water seep over his paws and lick at his legs, greedily trying to suck him into the depths, without knowing how to ensnare him into it's embrace. He knew his way around these parts fairly well, even has a network of dens that he's prepared so that he can rest just about anywhere if he likes. He thinks that he has done well, planning for so many different things. He had even more dens scattered across the lands that weren't claimed by packs, so many that surely other lone wolves could find a place to shelter if they needed. He may have his own problems to deal with, but that didn't mean he couldn't help others from a distance. The ground beneath his paws softens even further, and he can feel himself start to sink due to his weight. He pulls himself back as he gazes around, noticing that he had strayed a little bit from the path he usually took. Thick tree roots arced and snaked every which way a little ways from him, signalling that he was still close to one of the dens he had made.

As he carefully places each paw in front of the other, an unfamiliar and fresh scent wafts over him. He pauses for a moment as the realization strikes him, though he knows he has no choice but to deal with it one way or another. The earth beneath his paws becomes more firm and solid again, the land becoming drier as he finished his journey to the den he had made beneath many intersecting roots. Though the scent was fresh, he saw nobody in his immediate surroundings. They could have already made their way into the den, or could be somewhere just beyond it laying in wait. He didn't want to approach his own den to be set upon by some maddened wolf, be it a vampire crazed for blood or just some aggressive youngster. He wanted to be able to suck into the den, and have a restful slumber with no problems. After waiting for a few moments he moves forward once more, and ducks into the den he had been seeking after this journey. The fresh scent of strange wolf practically flooded him at this point, and they had either been here or still were. The earth beneath his paws was uneven and messy, indicating that they had dug up and likely eaten the pieces of kill he had stored there.

He had made his way back here and expected a meal and rest, and the meal had been taken out from under his nose. He had thought that this den was clever and well-hidden, but it still hadn't been safe enough to leave food on it's own. Turning around so that he was facing the mouth of the den once more, he suddenly heard the snap of a weaker root under something weighted. Pale crimson eyes immediately moving towards the sound, he saw a silhouette just above his den. Hackles raising defensively, the rest of his fur prickled and began to raise to make himself seem bigger than he already was. Was his world crumbling once again? His black coat was now as fully on end as a frightened cat's, his lips crinkle as the barest traces of fang are displayed in a threat should the visitor have any ill intentions.

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