Life was quiet.

Ceolwulf stood beneath the shade of a tall and ancient tree, his jet black coat sprinkled with flecks of light that broke through the canopy above. He did not care for the heat that radiated from the rogue rays of sunlight or for the stink of warm, rotten mud as it dried out along the borders of the large lagoon from which the bachelor territory derived its name. He found rumours of the lagoon’s unbearable musk and dark, dingy lighting to be greatly exaggerated. They were myths mostly likely purported by unwilling trinkets or those trying to paint the bachelors as horrible, stinking villains.

It sounded like the stories of children.

The black beast did not mind the rumours and would have minded them even less if they had been closer to the truth. He would have enjoyed slinking through the ominous shadows of a bog filled territory, danger lurking with every step. He would have slotted into that world perfectly. The lagoon was not entirely without that though. Within the trees, away from the open space where the crystalline water of the lagoon stretched out, swampland predominated. On the far edge of the territory, he’d even passed along the perimeter of a peat mire which would surely spread come fall. He wondered if anyone had ever perished in the lagoon’s bogs.

The thought pleased him.

Looking out across the lagoon, he had to wonder if life here was always so quiet and boring. Perhaps he had made a mistake coming here, or perhaps he just needed to shake things up.