Barrow Fields drown me slowly

While it had been difficult to turn in the direction opposite that in which his family had departed, Dacio had found some quiet relief in leaving Drageda's cliffs behind. It was a place that would forever be dear to him, part of who he was and who he'd once been, home to his fondest memories.

But it was also a land that brought him great misery, and it taught him a hard lesson: Drageda was more than territory. It was companionship found among its kru, the bond between silver brother and golden sister, the loyalty to its wolves. It was in what flowed through his veins, strong as ever.

He was hopeful to return to Blixen, his father and the others someday - but not until their mission was complete.

Dacio veered toward a metallic tang in the air, drawn in by the scent of what he assumed to be a fresh kill. It was a moment of opportunity, knowing that he'd need to maintain condition if he wanted his travels along the coast to be successful. With only two yearlings - warriors, not hunters - the young Drakru figured it might be in his best interest to investigate.

He was not surprised to spot the ashen figure of another male, and he paused to observe silently. An adult in his prime, likely a loner, seemingly searching for the source that drew Dacio in. The boy did not draw attention to himself but pressed on across the fields, following but maintaining distance should the stranger choose to take offence to his presence.