Dragoncrest Cliffs sediment dredged from the river of hate

he had come down from the north, following a cold river teeming with fish, as was the way of things. in following them the boy came in contact with many things he had not yet seen in his short life: the fleeting leaps and bounds of a warren of rabbits, for one thing. the hustle and bustle of their small bodies surprised him. they were not as graceful as the salmon in the stream, but their movement excited him. in giving chase, the golden boy thought he could garner a meal. it was not surprising when the rabbits evaded him, escaping through the many paths, for they knew the land and he did not.

but the rabbits had spurred him to move, and now the boy was lost. he was somewhere new, and the river had vanished from his sight. in searching for that familiar scent, the pulsing sound of it, the taste in the air of fresh and crisp wetness, he found himself winding west. and when he was impeded by craggy rocks and a gray cliffside, he gave up his search and felt his spirit wither.