Sunset Valley fortune days

Warmer air and earth had greeted him in the span of days that brought him back south only to be dashed away by the entrance of chilly rains in the late morning. Where lush scenery pulled him into the relative safety of the valley, it was far too late to save him from being soaked. With muddied paws that tested the equally muddy slope, his gaze was drawn out over a swollen creek that should have been no more than a trickling brook flush with stones.

Stirring birds in boughs above welcomed Dirge into a tight thicket as the wind toussled their leaves; the rain would soon come to pass. The chill that lingered dared to suggest it would be there a while longer, but he was hardly a stranger to the constant, if not apparently violent shift of spring's full bloom. He shook his coat once, then twice; all seemed in vain against the persistent pelt of heavy raindrops. It was no matter in the long run, he would dry.

At least the land had evened out here, the brief respite welcome as he had made his own path across what felt a place devoid of much traffic. The game trails were there as always, long worn stretches more apparent now that tall grasses and shrubs had grown, but he found a particular absence of his toothy ilk still. This was the wilderness at its finest he knew, and he moved on silently, directionless.