Horizon Ridge The curse of much knowledge is often indecision.

The days passed by rather rapidly – each one bringing with it a cooler breeze as autumn tinged the air. Soon, frost would paint the foliage at night, and the Wilds would soon turn brilliant shades of crimson, orange and yellow. It seemed odd to him – to celebrate his second autumn after the death of his father, and for a stolen moment, the regal considered seeking out the sequoias and the resting place of Lasher.  He could not bring himself to, though – not when the burnt scent of ash turned his stomach and reminded him of everything that had been taken from him. Deirdre and Emaleth had deserved better. His failure would always be apparent by the burnt forest – a reason he settled so close to it. To remind him to be better.
 
So the stocky wolf took to the ridge. His form lumbered along the length of the heights, his paws barely traipsing higher when a call sounded out, beckoning him. He paused, realizing who the voice belonged to – though her tones were still new to him. He had not expected her to seek him out, but he was not displeased that she had – if anything, he felt a surge of relief, something to pull himself from his darker thoughts.
 
He would have called back, but instead, he sought her out. It did not take long as she sought safer ground, and soon, the shadow runner’s tangerine eyes cast upon the dragoness, and his world stilled for a moment as he quietly watched her.