Honeyed Pasture we were like gods at the dawning of the world

@Maera ♥ to fit into axo's timeline this thread is tentatively backdated to before the undersea storm.

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Axolotl draws in a deep breath, sensitive to the ambrosial scent of the tall grasses, of the warm aroma of the herds that graze without fear upon the golden heather as it sways in the gentle breeze. The only tang of salt lingers upon his pelage and there is little the Atlanian can do to erase it. The mere idea gives him panic for he has already been parted from Atlan before and though the leviathan of the sea takes it on faith that They understand because he is not a beast born from Their waters but he has found his deity once more and he deigns to stay close. His ilk is well adept at surviving off of seafood he cannot deny himself the succulent taste of venison or other large ungulates. He stands alone as the only Atlanian in these Wilds, the lone Harbinger as Their mortal voice. Atlan was calm when he left Stavanger Bay in the search of ungulate. It does not take him long to cross paths with a herd’s scent — fresh. He follows it, lowering himself into the shelter of the tall, golden grasses sinking belly against the earth as he studies the small herd of four for any sign of young or weak.

One is young, he notes, but the adolescent doe and two adults — a buck and a doe — form a protective triangle upon the long legged babe making it hard for him to take it down without surmounting grievous injuries to his body. He is a Warrior Shaman and on his faith he does not fear death but he does not have to fear something to want to avoid it. He gives up, rising quietly and skirting around the small family to head towards the heart of the pasture wondering if luck has yet abandoned him.

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