Shadewood is that what a dinosaur would do.

The first thing Artaax had done upon leaving the company of the Redhawks was to sleep. He felt drained completely - emotionally, physically, mentally, you name it. His fury had held him aloft long enough to carry him out of the Plateau's vicinity and into the Shadewood, but there it had stopped. He finally could go no further, so he had found himself a little nook amongst the tree roots where he'd settled in for some much needed recovery.

He had hoped his exhaustion would lead him to a dreamless sleep, but of course, it hadn't. His mind was too wired and his heart too sore for sleep to offer him any relief from the events of the past few days. When Artaax awoke in the early dawn hours, it was with a start and only after hours of mental torment as Wildfire and Thuringwethil appeared in his nightmares. He shook himself groggily and stretched out across the forest floor with a heavy sigh as the last scenes of the nightmare played themselves over again in his mind. Artaax standing over a bloodied, dying Wildfire while heda towered over him, commanding him to finish it. As he laid there, he could almost feel the dampness of his mother's blood upon his fur.

When he looked though, it was only melted snow weighing his fur down, and the only sound besides his own throbbing heart was the mournful hoot of an owl somewhere overhead. With a sigh, the feisripa stood to continue his journey. If sleep would grant him no relief, then there wasn't much point in lying around anymore, was there.