Dragoncrest Cliffs A paradox with flies

The snowy wolf trekked northward, to an area of Drageda that he had visited once prior to his recent departure. He moved at a jog, occasionally breaking into a sprint whenever he felt compelled to do so, so that in spite of the early autumn chill, his tongue hung comically from the side of his jaw. The trees began to dissipate until they yawned open, revealing a small clearing. Therein lay both graves and a garden... Which Hux thought to be a beautiful, albeit solemn, combination of uses for the space .

He paused, ears perked with interest. He bypassed the cemetary with a fleeting feeling of gratitude that Thuringwethil was not freshly buried here. Afterwards his mind became entirely occupied with plans for garden maintenance. The male was pleased to find the garden somewhat unkempt, for he longed to work, to make use of himself. He scanned the plot, mentally separating annuals from perennials and weeds. The garden would need to be cared for before the ground froze, so that it would be prepared for next year's planting. Having mapped out his course of action, the gray eyed Kru set about his work, tackling the weeds first and wearing a small smile hidden beneath the very first plant he held between his teeth.