Deepwood Weald don't tell me how we've grown

thread with Aunt @Megara !

Marruz sniffed, blinking indigo and ink orbs in the chilled mist of dusk. He had only been within the Weald for a matter of hours compacted into, perhaps, a day, and yet he found that for once something seemed to suit him. If it was possible for the tetchy boy to be content, now was the fleeting moment.

He was prodding his way through the elongated trunks of brooding pines and other softwood conifers with the intent of familiarizing himself with the territory. Marruz was not one for wasted time, and so he had already coordinated a proper route with alotted sites for observation. He was hardly ever tired these days, having recently grown out of true puphood and finding his energies often in a state of surplus, and so he had become quite the night owl. It seemed that, if he wished it so, his long limbs might never cease their fleet-footed stride.

His mind was of the same breed, puttering along just as swiftly as his gait, if not more. He was thinking about his family, about these woods, and, though he willed himself to ignore it, his damned left forepaw. But alone, Marruz was not so agitated by it. And the thought of his father's flinty gaze was far, far away.