Grouse Thicket my bones can be scorched

the afternoon is chilly and overcast — to be expected of the winter months — and the cardinal — no. no that wasn't right. jagtooth he's decided he'll call himself in these foreign lands; a treasured souvenir lest he ever forget jagtooth summit. a trophy. a private testament to his conquest, like those old photographs of a time long since passed that brings a small and nostalgic smile to the lips of the person who'd lived it.

the young forest the grizzled regal shrugged his way through offered some buffer from the breeze but the shadows offered no additional warmth. occasionally, there would be a break in the canvas above and the clouds would drift out of the way and sunlight would touch upon the forest floor. it is during these collection of minutes that jagtooth would stop and let the sun's golden rays touch upon his back and warm him. those moments didn't last long and when the clouds drifted back to conceal the sun he would push on, winding deeper into the grouse's territory. there were plenty of the birds — taking flight to branches above his head in noisy flight when his coming presence startled them.

at least, he thinks, there is plenty of food to be found here. a small boon in the storm clouds that have settled over his ( perhaps permanently ) furrowed brow. the departure of his youngest ( he assumes because he doesn't know that to be true ) children from his side during their travel has left him more vulnerable than he'd ever care to admit.