Verdant Basin journey's end

@Alder

It's the way of a wanderer to - well - wander. And he's been walking nonstop for what felt like days. The wilds are impressively sized, and with every territory's end there seemed to always be more land stretching ever onward. For the young and excitable adventurer, it must have been overwhelming. For the old and soulless soldier, it was tiring. He wasn't the type to long for home and hearth - certainly not a pack man, by any means - but there was a latent sadness in the way of the homeless shadow, escaping death simply by running. It didn't offer itself for anything more than sleepless nights and cold mornings, really.

He lets himself shuttle to a stop on a hillside, pressing his thick chest into the soft grass and letting out a whuff. He hadn't realized his muscles were so tired. Soldiers pushed on through anything, and when they did stop, they often ached for days. It's no warmer here than it was where he came from, but there were little clouds in the sky, and the sun beat down warm and bright overhead. Crossing one paw over the other, the old soldier falls about grooming what new small scars have knicked their way over his legs, most gained from walking through branches or catching on thorns. He would have been the picture of calm, too, were it not for the latent tense of his muscles beneath that thin veneer of relaxation; always ready, always waiting. No wonder he was so tired.