Blacktail Deer Plateau the devil's bleeding crude oil from a hole in his chest

For @Dante, if you have the time! If you don't shoot me a PM and I'll open this up.

With Harlyn left to linger somewhere just beyond the borders, Mordecai had taken the task of moving back within the Plateau's borders. It had been loosely at his request that she waited long enough for him to do what had to be done, if anything at all to hold up some moral code that he had carried a long time. And in a way, he had stayed longer than he had ever anticipated. Things had really not been so bad, in fact they had been far from it. But there was a general cohesion that he lacked when it came to the whole of the place, though he hardly shifted to place the blame elsewhere. That alone rested on him, which may have been the very reason why he found each step a little harder than the last.

And finding Dante was no easy task either. Mordecai did not doubt that his friend was busy, as being a leader was everything but all fun and games. There was little leisure about it, something always had to be done, something always had to be dealt with. Mordecai was hardly a stranger to it, though in a sense he had a lot more to learn. He plucked tendrils of his scent from the undergrowth and through the breeze, but his eyes remained focused ahead. It would have been easier to summon him, perhaps, to draw him out to the borders, but he felt that wasn't fair. Perhaps if he hadn't thought so well of Dante he would have done such a thing, but he considered him more than just a leader. He was a friend first, a brief companion who had come into rank well. Someone who had found somewhere that felt like a home enough to settle and remain, and deal with all that came rolling over the horizon.

In a way, Mordecai found himself not entirely wanting to leave, not wanting to take the potential to burn a bridge. Yet he found himself unwilling to let go of Harlyn, finding more of a companion out of her for all that they had endured together. If there was one thing that he was unfamiliar with, it was certainly the division of support. Time got away from him as his thoughts meandered and his feet carried him further inward; the moment he thought he was drawing close to his friend he found himself drawing composure to himself. He chuffed once, curiously, wondering if Dante lied ahead through the mismatched pockets of obscuring greenery.

murder by death — devil in mexico