The Sentinels Tam o' Shanter

A pricking of wanderlust touched the pads of Flaris' feet, drawing him to the hem of the Sentinels and onto the boundary that determined where his home ended and the freelands began. Surprise washed over the dryad, as he came to find himself wholly uninterested in crossing the threshold. Leaving Donnelaith, if only for inconsequential amount of time, felt trite and unappetizing— much like the last time he had set foot beyond Bergamont. Except, his feelings for leaving his birthplace had been elicited from a fear of never seeing his loved ones again; a trepidation he had eventually overcome. the butterflies he felt now did not flutter the same way. He was sure almost instantly that he didn't want to leave simply for that reason: he didn't want to leave.

It was not for fear nor lack of wonder that stilled him. It was just the plaintive and true fact that he wanted to be here, more than anywhere else, that kept him within the borders. The clouds pulled apart, and a pillar of light fell upon the brown-furred fixture on Donnelaith's edge; he lifted his chin and closed his eyes, smiling into the sun's warmth.