Horizon Ridge forsaken deep in the sullen tide

backdated to mid-september; open for anyone

It wasn't until he had started the climb along the ridge that Mordecai realized the subtle change of the seasons. The air felt different the further away from the coast he took himself, though the ocean was never entirely out of reach. Even here, if the wind was just right, he could scent the saltwater air. The ache in his body was not entirely gone either, the pain driven sharply by a growing hunger he had not quite been able to sate fully.

Whatever sparse moments of lucidity he had were fleeting, as for the most part Mordecai moved like a drone, zombie-like and unaware of what was around bar directly ahead of him. He'd go until he couldn't any more, and then he would rest. Very much the same pattern he had adopted some weeks ago when trying to track herds in the middle of a famine—the recollection was something akin to a sucker punch when he realized that yet again, something had kept him from his family.

Of course, this time he wasn't coming back to a whole family. As it were, they had lost two of their children to differing circumstances. It was a soul-crushing experience that would not yet be quelled and the lost of the sun to the dip of the earth only meant he was in for a long night ahead. A sigh escaped him as he bought his unsteady and limping gait to a brief halt, having sussed out a stream from habit to drink from. The water was crisp and clear, but he did not look to the reflect that met him in the lowering light.

agalloch — "into the painted grey".