King Elk Forest the descent to hell is easy

Mato, earlier in the morning, had awoken and careful not to wake her detached himself from Seabreeze’s side to stargaze; but untraditionally the druid did not linger among the stars for long. There is much that needs his attention, after all. The stars can wait. They have been there since the dawning of time and they will remain there long after Mato is little more than dust and ash. So far: a scrawny red fox he’d found digging into the roots of a tree had ended up being the first catch to grace Tindómë’s first food cache — which only served to remind Mato that at some point Aerlinn and him would need to make a trip back to Northstar Vale to explain, to inform so that they are not branded traitors as he has every intention of keeping their departure amicable. Once the borders have been effectively, marked, he thinks and with Trajan’s help it should not be too cumbersome of a task.

It is as Mato makes his way to the would-be borders that he catches the Roman’s scent, already marking them that Mato adjusts his course and quickly catches up with the older male. The empyrean lets out a soft chuff to announce his presence as he lopes to join the man’s side. “Good morning, Trajan.” Morwinyon greets the soldier in a lofty, buoyant tone. The druid pauses to lift his leg and mark, before he moves forward a few paces to weave himself around the trunk of a tree that rests directly upon the borders like a cat would rub itself around it’s human’s leg.