Shadowwyn Moor Hey, how about that!

The wound on his head was closed entirely now, the red rawness of it sealed by an ugly scab that itched mercilessly. Luke would bite his lip as he fought the urge to rub his crown on a tree, knowing enough that tearing off the scab and opening the wound would do nothing but harm. So he would endure the itching. His leg, too, and the rest of his body was no longer as tender, and his limp had softened in severity. He could feel the stiffness in his muscles slackening, and did not realize until now how much he had been compensating in his movements for the pain that the tree had brought upon him.

He followed the path of tornado after leaving Saena, hoping it had spared the home Harlyn had picked out for them. He breathed a sigh of relief to see that it had, though of course there was some damage from the reckless winds. It was the moor to the south that had taken the brunt of storm's wrath. Each step he took was slow, deliberate, with the terrain so badly distorted by debris and torn ground. Flies made a nuisance of themselves, especially drawn to his head which only caused further itching and irritating.

He was about to leave, to do an about face and take the straightest path out of this damp battlefield, when a fiery coat caught the corner of his eye. It seemed familiar, but it was not until he drew nearer that he could put a name to the figure: Kerosene. He barked a greeting, as he continued to pick his way toward his acquaintance.