Fall was on the cusp of entirely consuming the earth. Sveinx could feel it in the decadent whisper of chill on the air, in the shortened days, in the already changing colors of some of the leaves. Autumn, in it’s full glory had always been Sveinx’s favorite season, even though it represented, in it’s own way, death. Death, as an abstract concept, in and of itself was inevitable. It would come to claim everyone, eventually. In his father’s terms, though Sveinx had never truly committed himself to the Greek Mythology as a religion, Persephone had been stolen back to the Underworld as part of her pact with Hades. He had heard all the stories numerous times over, and the Legionnaire could, accordingly, probably tell them in his slumber. Poison apple green eyes took in the trees that were both familiar and alien to him. Leaving Flightless Falcons had been a decidedly hard choice…leaving his strong willed, but elderly parents in the paws of his younger siblings -- though notably (as far as Sven was aware, anyway) he, technically, left their care with Custard, his twin (unless Custard, too, left, Tokio doesn’t want to assume anything!). Not all of his siblings were entire boneheads, yet, regardless, saying what had likely been his final goodbyes before vanishing into the molten fires of the sunset, had left a ridged, festering wound in his heart. Goodbyes, apparently, had not been meant to be easy.
Despite this, Sveinx kept going, though in truth, he knew not the nature of his journey. Just that he felt he had to leave. Perhaps in the pursuit of his younger sister, Koontz, for he had headed in the general direction she had since departed along however long ago she’d left, but there was no guarantee he’d find her (even if he were searching for her), and further not enough certainty to use that as an excuse. As for a true excuse; he had none. He needed none. He was an adult, capable of making his own decisions, and not needing to explain them to anyone. With a shake of his head, the large, ivory colored legionnaire paused at the bank of the base, exposing the strong curve of his spine as his muzzle dipped down to the rippling surface of the creek, lapping at the cool, refreshing water, triangular ears thrust to the sides, alert and listening for any noises that did not belong to his surroundings.