Blacktail Deer Plateau Despair has its own calms.

He was getting old. This was his sixth summer.

He knew this for a long while, but now that fact was catching up with him. Training the youths of the Woods became harder, winded him more often. His bones creaked when he exerted himself too much, his limits lowering day by day. But he was not yet a prisoner of his body, consigned to short walks to keep himself from locking up. He was almost there, but not there.

He proved that to himself by taking a journey to the end of the Flatlands, then beyond, first ending at the Plateau that marked the invisible barrier between the Flatlands and the Coast. He was at a trot, determined to keep his joints moving instead of slow, which would eventually lock them up. He was going nowhere, and yet walking, eyes glancing at the surroundings around him.