Shadowwyn Moor you could start a war with hands like that

maybe @Zane? but all welcome! :-)

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The morning has the potential to be sultry the air heavy with the moisture of the recent rainstorm that recently ended, the thin wisp of dark grey clouds burning off as the morning progresses; the heat is kept at bay by the wind that whips through the longer tendrils of fur at Imaran’s nape. The moor offers little shelter from the golden sun as it burns in the sky, ever present but the breeze is nice. There are a few small copses of trees dotted throughout the moor and the occasional tree fallen and uprooted, gnarled and in some cases broken roots stand out like spikes. Imaran navigates around them. For the fallen trees that look big enough to hold his weight he jumps up and balances, standing like a conqueror as candescent jack-o-lantern gaze scans the expanse of moor grateful for the open lands. These moments do not last long and soon he is back upon the colorful ground trudging through it and trampling brightly colored flowers under foot as he drudged forward no real destination in mind.

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