The Floodlands chased it 'round to Tokyo

Thinking back, Lucca couldn't remember if he had ever stepped foot outside the Plateau since they had relocated. He wasn't even sure how much time had passed since then but a whooole lotta shit had gone down in between that made it seem like it had been years. Despite his initial reservations about the new territory, he had kind of come to kind of like the water-logged mesa. Sure it was damp, but the views were almost unrivalled — as well as offering great protection — and the fauna was delicious. He had yet to make any formal decisions on how he felt about the surrounding areas, however, and so today decided to do just that.

There was a familiar, prickling sense of unease as he put distance between himself and his home, but the Blackthorn tried to ignore it and pushed on through the late morning fog. It hung heavy throughout the Floodlands but not so much as to obscure his view. Instead, it bathed the plains in a strange, dreamlike haze, the sun peeking through the passing clouds and casting the grass in random splotches of warmth. Waters leftover from the floods earlier in the season shimmered here and there and, with a giddy throw of his head, Lucca bounded towards a particularly large puddle before plunging his forelegs right into the centre and drenching the entire front half of his body.