Fairspell Meadow you could set fire

It had been three days since he'd last eaten. At least a week since he'd seen a friendly face, if that. The mountains fell away from him as he ran until there was nothing left around him but tall grass, and he happily got lost within it. As happily as he could, rather. It wasn't like the pale wolfchild had wanted any of this — but his alpha was gone, and nobody understood the pain he felt, the loss that plagued him, so he had to go. There was no place for him back upon the Rise. But, as the boy paced his way across the dense meadow, his head canted low so as to breathe in the smell of the dirt and anything else that lingered among the roots, he realized he didn't know where he was; worse, he was so very hungry — but which direction could he go? As an adventurer he could go anywhere, logically. Crescent was far from logical at this point in his life though — he was a boy without direction, gleaning understanding from the tall tales once woven for him at bedtime. They were all he had left of his beloved friend, and the boy was quickly learning that they would not suffice if he were to survive another night.