The world cried, lately – he felt swathed in a fathomless sea of droplets, as they tumbled from the heavens and pooled themselves in the nooks and crannies of pitted earth. His pelt, those ashen hues of smoke and rock, were dredged in a relentless bestrewing of rainwater, tiny translucent beads littering his fur like stars might, were the sky not so heavily drenched in cloud. Summer rain was not like winter rain – although the dampness of his skin was uncomfortable, the traveller savoured the relief of such a crisp embrace.

Soltero had ventured away from upon the ridge in which he and the fae queen had perched, but the mountains appeared engulfed by some residual despondency, a seclusion all too familiar to his mind. Solitude. Fissured pads trailed themselves further unto the mass of rock, ardent gaze following the desolate horizon with worn forbearance; still, though, he scoured the ledges for land ahead – places to go, things to see.

While he did not scour peculiar landmarks, he did descry a foreign figure weaving unwittingly through the mountain’s clutches. Squinting against the endless downpour, the Valento swallowed his uncertainty and lurked ever closer, aspiring to catch their eye. Perhaps this stranger might know a path to follow.