Bramblepoint not all of us are legends

this place would’ve been a pretty sight in the spring. lush leaves, birds chirping, and sweet berries as far as the eye could see. but nope, it was almost winter. and everyone knows winter’s a bitch. no fruit to dine on here, just sharp thorns to tear at your sides constantly. and that was anything but pretty.

a young male would be on the branches victim list today. every time they clawed at his fur, he’d curse under his breath and quicken his pace. the sooner he got out of this place the better.