Dragoncrest Cliffs Andalusite

He oblidged, retracing his steps with ease. His own scent was fresh, familiar through the heady scent of flowers, and his memory had not yet been clouded by time. The bright yellow ones look like little round bulbs. They grow on a type of bush that produces poisonus blue berries, and the leaves turn red at the end of their season. Padding back towards the dense forest to the east, he commented idly on the scenery and on happenings within the pack over the last day or so; his opinions vague but otherwise polite, filling the time it took to arrive to their destination.

When they neared, he slowed his pace considerably, pulling just ahead of Portia, hoping that she would not see his grin widen. The area was dusted with snow, and the path ahead considerably obscured by a thicket of shrubs and evergreens. Turning his head, he motioned to his company that their prize lay just ahead.

He ducked his head to pass beneath a low hanging tree branch, and stepped into a small clearing. In the center, a fair sized shrub commanded attention, rising almost a dozen feet up, an array of branches twisting towards the sky. Bright yellow tendrils blossoming from blood orange hearts covered each spire, as if the shrub had suddenly burst into flame. Out in the patch of sunlight, but protected from the bitter winter wind on all four sides, it had been the first of its kind to fully blossom. It looked striking against the snowy backdrop.

Setting the few geraniums and hibiscus down at his paws, he turned to Portia. They're so different from other flowers. He marveled at the witch hazel shrub, pleased to return to the pretty little scene. Any other day he would have happily napped beside the shrub, happy to bask in its beauty.