The stretches of colours swirl off, over the brim of the horizon in a waterfall of reds and purples and blues, like tangled veins seeping through the green. They slither over Aulerion's legs and stroke the underside of his chest as he wades through them; an ocean of whispering, reaching hands, cupped and cradling. It isn't the local foliage that has drawn him, however.

Beyond the sea of colours and rustling petals, a different seascape stretches. Ashy, cracked earth and dead tree husks jutting from the crags like sunken ships are all that remains of the field here, the wind silent and full of dry, grey dust in ghostly, swimming shapes as it drifts the length of the graveyard. This is what had caught Aulerion's pale eye, and this is what he now breaches the bloody field to explore, his silent, padding footsteps stirring ash that catches on his fur like snow and turns his dull greys even more uniform and colourless. The off-black corpses of charred twigs crumble when he touches them, and for as far as his eyes can see, the twisting, scarred landscape is barren of life- plant or canine. How far does it go, he wonders- could he follow this empty, colourless, cold desert off into another world? If you went far enough, would the rest of this green world fade away, never to be found again? Or did paradise wait on the other side of this earthen corpse?

He climbs an especially impressive fallen trunk for a better view of the horizon, and it creaks and groans beneath his weight, its hollow rib cage riddling with cracks and fissures that exhale long plumes of ash in weary sighs as he adjusts his weight over its dry bones. The fire that consumed this place must've been massive, and for a moment, looking out over the undeniable, palpable devastation, he feels a deep, hungry pang of envy for the force that could gouge such unforgettable marks into a thing as nature has done to herself here.