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.




Perhaps swimming across an ocean in the dead of winter had not been the smartest decision that the packs of the isle had made. But they, the inhabitants, had had every intention of devouring the mainland, and so they had not wished to wait any longer than necessary. But it seemed that Kostyantyn was the only one who had made it. In his cavern, marked possessively by his symbol, he had lain in wait. His paw pads had slowly healed, but he had opened a wound on his shoulder of his own volition. It was the way of his people to record their history in their own blood. It was a way of keeping track of their successes and pitfalls - this was done so that future generations would be able to learn from their mistakes of what not to do, and to learn from their successes what actually worked. Kostyan had been working on detailing his work out for training to swim across the ocean… it had taken a few days, perhaps a week before it was fully complete. Neither he nor his people knew of humans, nor would they ever, but if they had any idea how difficult their writing was in comparison to that of the humans, perhaps they would have changed how they did it. The manuscript of his people was complex and intricate, requiring precision and grace, delicacy and dexterity. It was both out of tradition and as a precautionary measure so that others would not be able to understand them. Anything, in short, that they chose to write down, therefore took a long time. It was a different story if you and your family worked at it together - each would work on one part, one chunk of time, and it would be done relatively quickly. But this, being alone, working on his own? It took much longer. Still, he held to the task and endured the pain, letting his blood soak into the porous surface of the wall each day. And once he had completed marking it down as successful, he had moved onto another topic. And then another, another, and another. He wrote down the goals that his parents had laid out for him, and left it open as to whether it was a success or failure. He would, in time, mark it as one or the other, but he did not wish to jinx himself by prematurely marking it as a success. They were, all of them, a superstitious lot, and he would do nothing to jeopardize winning. He was not meant to explore much until all of the heirs came together. But by the time summer broke and he was still alone, Kostyantyn had made the decision that he would strike out and complete his task. If the other heirs failed, well then that was their own doing, not his.

So, he had stretched well before bed, preparing his muscles for what would come the next day. Likely, it would involve a great amount of travel over foreign terrain, and if all of it appeared like this, it was going to be a very long trip with slow progress. And the prince had even gone to bed early, wishing to be well rested for whatever the next day would bring. But when he awoke the next morning, it was not from a full rest, but rather, from interruption. A slight disturbance in the air, a sudden pungent smell of a ripped plant. And then, there were the echoing of footsteps, the delicate dance upon the rock hard floor that bounced from one wall of the cavern to the other. It was very quiet, but Kostyantyn had become accustomed to the silence that this cabin brought, and in comparison, it was annoyingly loud. He had remained relaxed so as not to give away the fact that he was awake, but his mind was on high alert, ready to fend off his attacker. But was he was not prepared for was the delicate soprano the entered his audettes.

H – hello?

He opened one eye - no assassin would announce themselves as this. What he saw before him was a drenched femme, One who was staring quite intently at his paws. His gaze drifted down, and he saw upon them the dried blood, his own dried blood. He raised his head, and smiled gallantly at her. And then, he saw the moss on the ground before her - oh, so she wished to take care of him? But why then so timid… Kostyantyn found himself amused. His form raised to his paws and he stood, towering over her. He was muscular and tall, but his looks made him handsome.

He was a grey wolf, both in species and coloration. He had a beautiful array of dark stormy greys that brewed as deeply as a thunderstorm overhead, and light greys almost as delicate as snow. But breaking up the fifty shades of grey was streaking streams of russet across his face in a mask and down along his abdomen. And yet it was his stunning pine green eyes that stood out the most.

How sweet it is of you to worry about my well-being. But I am quite well, you will see. This blood is mine, yes. But it is from this wound here.” He turned so that she would be able to see the cut along his shoulder. “It is my blood line, the area I use to draw forth my own ink so that I may write my histories upon a canvas such I as I have.” Kostyantyn gestured to the cavern‘s wall behind him. “You have caught me at a good time, girl. I was just today going to leave this cave. But…” He inhaled and swept his gaze over her bodice, without any attempts at subtlety. “… Perhaps we shall have a romp first, yes?” He took a step toward her, expecting her to fully submit to him immediately. She was not royalty, or at least not that he knew of, and he was all too used to lasses throwing themselves at his paws. After all, a pup by royal granted them a higher station in life, along with access to easier resources. Kostyan stepped nearer to her, grinning cockily, waiting for her to submit.

🟍Kostyantyn🟍Son of Greed🟍Heart of Ice🟍No Kin🟍No Loyalty🟍

Border thanks to eveyd. Table thanks to xathira. Background thanks to Sketchepedia


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