Herbalists' Cache Do that thing we never do sober

Ramsay pressed north and west, for the moment unwilling to swing south to where he knew they must eventually go. All paths led back to that place, so no matter how he delayed it, that destiny was ironclad. He hadn't yet the words to say nor the will to stand trial and hold his composure, though, so he insisted on going north and west, avoiding both the mountains and the south for now. Soon. Soon he would go that way, perhaps pay Tindome a visit and pay Delight back for all the time wasted.

But the shadows... those would need to wait until he formulated a plan.

The woods he traipsed through were resplendent with shades of green still, though hints of autumn's coming hid among summer's bounty. Here, a yellowing leaf. There, a cluster of fallen ones. Ramsay knew little about the season, having been too young while autumn reigned to know much of it, but he knew change was coming. He tilted his muzzle up as best he could on his broad, hunched shoulders to drink in the air with its new crispness, then pressed on at a slow pace, seeking nothing but not averse to company at the same time. Perhaps a change in season would bring the appropriate change in him to make a decision regarding that place.