The Heartwood i am a question to the world

Youth had been so hard for the prince. He had longed and desired more than he had ever been able to fulfill. He had yearned, searching for what might fill the void that was felt in the pit of his chest. Many things had taught him what it meant to grow, but he still felt that familiar song in his spirit – the one that urged him forward. It was that same song that carried the regal Cavendish through the woods. The length of his willowy limbs allowed him to cover great distance, but he did not wish for it to pass him by without truly appreciating all that it had to offer.

The forest felt like a home to him. There were massive trees that cast shadows on the earth below, birds that chirped overhead and sunlight that fluttered through the foliage. It was odd for him to think that he had been born anywhere other than the wild wood. The prince knew that he could not belong anywhere but there. Perhaps, not the wood that he trekked through, but to the forests of the world.

A glimpse of silver caught his attention. The slighthound turned his crown toward the youthful wolf. He peered down the length of his muzzle at the young man, following the movements, wondering where it was that he was off to with such purpose. “Hello,” he called into the forest. Cavendish had a kind voice, soft and light in its deliverance. “Where might you be off to?”