Felltree Marsh from the place the world forgot

When they made sure the wolves left the bolder, she hadn’t been able to pinpoint exactly where they’d gone. At first, it didn’t bother her. At first, she wasn’t going to let herself care. They were gone from Sleeping Dragon’s front yard and at the time, it had been all she could ask for. However, the longer she went, she couldn’t help the level of curiosity that had risen within her to find out exactly where they’d gone. The security patrols around the border hadn’t given them on any insight and territories that surrounded Drageda were not inhabit by anyone other than her own wolves that ventured out.

How she’d gotten all the way to the March had been on a whim, thinking she caught a scent of one of the wolves she met at the face of the bolder. Thuringwethil isn’t able to hold it long as she trotted through wet soil and puddles, stepping over large branches and climbing the width of tree trunks that had fallen in the wake of something terrible. Perhaps the storm Wildfire had mentioned had been the cause but she doesn’t have a reason to think about it when she has no one to answer the potential question.

The smell isn’t terribly pleasant, either; it’s musty and wet. Humidity weighs her fur down and even though she shakes it out every so often, it still feels heavy against her skin. Irritation builds up and she stiffens, pushing herself over another trunk onto ground that seems a little sturdier than wet soil that sucks at her paw pads, and perhaps she’s finally getting to the other side.

@Depp, @Sen.