The Floodlands I feel you in my arms, but you're hardly even with me

Like his superior, Aklark did not give up hope as the tracks faded. However, hope did not stave off his frustration with the circumstance. With his nose steeped in the browning grass, Aklark huffed, lashing out against the compact dirt itself. The job would not be as easy as he had initially thought as all things typically were. Yet, though he was stripped of one sensory marker -- there was still smell. The scent was fading, but one thing was certian: the herd was heading on a north-eastern track. But if they did not continue to follow the trail, the window of scent would close, and their bounty would be lost to nature.

He composed himself quickly. His fiery temper died like a fast burning flame. He looked back and nodded silently to Silaluk before continuing on in the direction of the fading scent. All they could do was continue on. And when they finally found something solid, Aklark would leave it to his superior to assemble the rest of the company.