Redtail Rise but my god, you are divine

From Firefly Ravine Drogon heads east, the territories of the northern stretches yet unexplored to the tundrian. His purpose is not entirely selfish as though he explores for himself, to learn the layout of the Wilds territory by territory he also seeks to seize the opportunity of recruiting for Cascada’s cause. A cause that is his own now, too, he supposes. It is a simple cause: create a home to belong to. Unlike Blackfeather Woods there does not appear to be a driving theme behind Cascada’s desires. No Gods, no hidden agenda. It is concise. Find a place to call home, where they could belong. The soturi understands this desire well enough. He will not hide behind Gods, behind secrecy. He is seen, he is known, he is an oncoming storm. He gives his enemy every chance to deny him. He is a true warrior and staying in those woods, regardless of the affection he feels for Nyx would deny him what he wants. There was no future there. Nothing but the promise that one day his usefulness would run out like the sand in an hourglass and when that hour came calling so too would death. That is not the man Drogon will be and thus leaving them was the only course of action he could see. Nyx would be fine without him. She had Neo. She had Damien.

As the mid-day sun hangs high in the sky Drogon steps into Redtail Rise, taking in the small chain of mountains and untamed slopes of the foothills. The once deciduous forest is charred and burnt stumps and ash are all that is left. It is ruinous. He is drawn into the ruins, intrigued by the destruction around him. He has never seen anything like it before and wonders what was it’s cause. Large, broad paws leave prints in the ash as he walks, the Rise is absent of breeze, preserving his steps (though any tree coverage there might have been once is clearly long gone and he could likely be seen anyway). The burnt ridge is left to the sun and the soot dusted and ivory spinesplitter looks as if he was born of this ash; except for his eyes. They are not fire forged like the one that razed this place to the ground but are like jewels of ice instead, arctic and bone-chilling; the cold can burn just as much as heat he knows.

The soturi remains just to sate his own curiosity, to explore but holds little hope of finding anyone he may be able to recruit. He will move on, soon, but for now he is content to explore the ash ruins.