Broken Boulder Crucible of Broken Blouder

Hours had passed by and his pace never faltered. The scent drifted away though he still recalled whereabouts it would take him and by now he’d arrived at the point ‘most north’ of where his nose told him of something worth his time. For a vagabond without a home, he had nothing but time anyways. Especially since he was only concerned with survival till the next morrow. That was how this game of life was played - survival is what it was all about. When one failed to find a true goal or path, they could always fall back on the task of survival. It was the unending keeper and Redmoon knew the keeper well. The score keeper, who watched over all life and who tallied their marks through the journey of life, how many marks had Redmoon obtained? He didn’t know but he realized he still had a long ways to go. 

Under the score keeper’s watch, Redmoon kept his pace until the winds began to change. At first he was sure they’d begin blowing south and give him away but as fortune had it, they blew away to the north and this was certainly advantageous. His approach from the east would go undetected in addition to the sun’s rays at his back. Though perhaps his calculations were off, he now was beginning to suppose that by the time he arrived, the sun would no longer be so low. A sigh admitted to another lesson learned that if one’s timing was well planned then surely one could use nature’s light. Though the sloth benefitted from neither. 

Without the sun he was still going to be fine, but he decided to add a bit of speed to his pace and so he began to suffer a gentle trot. His ears flicked left and right continuously, searching for interlopers or watchers in the concealment of the woods. Keen senses picked up on critters and serpents though nothing worth stopping for. In fact it seemed many of the smaller game in the area was already under cover of their bolt holes. 

That said, a thought entered Redmoon’s head, perhaps a predator he’d not sensed had come this way not long ago. ‘Impossible,’ he scoffed at himself, he’d not smelt the passing of any such creature along the apex rung. Surely he’d have sensed such predatory intent. Arrogance. A tang hit his nose and he stopped mid-trot. Hunkering low and perking his ears he scanned the area for his nose had never failed him and was the sharpest sense he held most dear. Nothing could sneak by his keen senses, though apparently his boastful approach was not so up to the snuff of keeping pace with his hubris. He needed to take it down a peg. 

There was little doubt in his mind that the change of the winds, blowing northward, he’d caught wind of the scent of urine. It was pungent and strong - a territorial marking, he assumed. Finally his ears caught sound, it was very distant. That of a yipping pup. Not the form of crying but the form of pain interlaced this audible news. 

Instinctively, Redmoon turned away and began moving on - keeping with his original route. Meddling with another’s affairs was a sure way to get scuffed, and out here in the Bracken, wounds would fast lead to death for a wounded predator couldn’t catch its prey or mayhaps would find itself as prey to something stronger. ‘Only the strong survive.’ Redmoon reminded himself. If the pup out there couldn’t will himself to survive then it was no business of his to intervene. He didn’t care, why should he? No one helped him when he was forced to flee from the packs of the far south. He ran until his pads bled to escape and no one had come to save him. He certainly wasn’t about to deliver any favors! 

Turning his nose down to avoid the scents and ease his conscience, he continued eastward though eventually his nose tilted back up and he found a new direction - due south. 

Compassion was unbecoming of a vagabond. He couldn’t afford to rescue some pup, he barely could feed himself. But that didn’t mean he had to be a scab. Carefully, he made way towards the distant sounds of torture.