Broken Boulder Drumbeat

His sense of direction, while ordinarily quite impeccable, proved insufficient when he exited the deep hundred mile wood on its eastern edge. Having thought himself traveling south, the swarthy wolf did a double take when he reached the sparse edge of it and saw that it continued on for several miles south beyond his position. Taking several long moments to orient himself, Prophet dipped his sternum to the floor and stretched with a mighty yawn, following it up with a quick, brisk shake.

Fluid strides carried him from the edge of the woods across a field, perhaps forty wolf-lengths across if he had cared to count, that was covered in a thin dusting of snow. He could smell beneath it the dead, brittle scent of autumnal grass, and also the edgier metal tang of stone, suggesting the terrain here was a curious amalgamation of grassland, wood and rock. He hovered his nose above the ground a moment, inhaling once more, before he lifted his gaze and it stuck on quite the marvel in the near distance.

Propped upon a small hillock was what appeared to be a huge stone split in twain. Ever a curious creature, to which he owed his departure from home, Prophet picked his way toward it with limber strides.