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 Forest’s 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.


Re(1): My whimper is as loud as my whine

When Robin wasn’t chewing on his chicory roots, he was growling and snarling at the pain bouncing around in his head. The wolf insisted he wasn’t in any way, shape, or form, addicted to the plant, but even he knew it was a mental handicap used to cope. It was bitter, he was bitter. Problem was finding it. When he couldn’t find it, his head became disoriented and lost with an ache. Sometimes, he’d have to pass it up due to the disgusting thought of dirtying his white paws and muzzle. Although he did despised dirt and the cleaning process of washing said dirt off, Robin would always sacrifice his dignity for it depending on how bad his head was.

The blond wolf circled the ground in a tight circle, huffing every so often in frustration before spinning the other way and re-circling the plant. There it was; his chicory root. Normally, he would have passed up the deeply buried root, but it was a particularly sharp and painful day to miss out of the plant. The roaring headache was enough to make him have to stifle a pitiful whine of sorrow and pain, silently curing under his breath. There was no way he was licking more dirt off himself, but why the devil would he climb in water? Robin was not completely hopeless, though. A few feet away from his small circle of though laid a stick. It was a clean stick, enough for Robin to hop over with his front legs landing first and snatch it up in his jaws. His fluffy ears pinned, Robin swiftly moved back over to his root and starting to stab at the earth in a crazed manner. Eventually, the wolf was able to tear up his prize, resulting in the abused stick to be flung across the air just to be replaced by the chicory.

Tenderly resting in his mouth, Robin attempted not to gag at the earthy taste of soil. Of course, he couldn’t chew on it just let. He needed to rinse the dirt off, sanitize it, make it taste less like dirt. Breaking into a stiff trot, the wolf started towards the sound of waves. He didn’t mind salt water with the root. It would hopefully make it less bitter and easier to chew up, even if it didn’t bother him much. Not wanting to have the precious root stolen by the ocean, the wolf slowed to a walk and plopped the chicory by a tide pool. Gently nosing it into the warm, shallow water, Robin sat back on his haunches and took a big sigh of slight relief. His head would be soothed soon enough.

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