Two Rivers Isle he jests at scars that never felt a wound

@Raven

From the base of the hill he selected his pathway up, choosing to ascended the snow-bare southern slope that had thawed quickest under the strengthening sun of the spring season, and was bathed by it on this mid morning. His broad paws sank into the soft melt-soaked soil, darkly staining the whites of his toes as his nails bit at the hill for traction. It was easier and quicker than navigating the structureless snow that sill blanketed the northern slope, where half his effort would have been consumed by the slip of his feet.

Jagwyr stood tall at the crest, turning his head over his shoulder to see where he had crossed the river. His gaze roamed its bends and runs, and flowed with it to where it joined with another river to the south. His survey followed the second river back, where he learned the rivers were in fact two halves of a whole that had split in the north. The black wolf was at the high center of a faux island set between them. He licked his lips thoughtfully.

Movement below him caught his attention. His eyes narrowed on the treeline where a doe and a fawn from the previous season had stepped out from the shadows that had hid them. Jagwyr tracked their meandering as they made their way to an open swath and bent their heads to graze. With his nose into the wind, he began his descent down a different slope than the one he had climbed, aware that he stood out like an ominous shadow against the snow he left muddy tracks in, but equally aware there was nothing to be done about it.