Shadewood instinct

Macintosh's steady legs took him north from the lake, all the way to the coast, and then south again. His search for greenery and knowledge alike was fruitless in that time. The entry to the mountain-hidded hinterland was a stinking swamp, muggy and warm from the spring ambience and lack of shade, and Mac thought that surely beyond it there must be greenery. How could there not be in a land moist and fertile enough to house a swamp? But when he pulled out of the mire, he saw nothing but the same devastation from before.

His travels took him westward next, and by the time he entered yet another thick forest with no foliage to speak of, the mud was dried and cracking on his legs and flanks. The lower half of his body itched something fierce and his eyes were flinty with irritation. Yet Mac was a patient beast, and so the irritation was only beneath the surface, and would soon be quelled by conversation: in amongst the trees just ahead of him strode a smaller wolf, of a typical tawny colour, and Macintosh subtly announced himself with a slight cough.