Hushed Willows Do not presume to teach me lessons.

He did not know where to hunt next, so his path flowed with the coursing river until it ended within a flame-lit woodland that briefly took his breath away; he was not lost for long among the trees, knowing that he could not err from his purpose for long. As deeply as he felt the need to roam and to explore, Cru knew he could not allow distractions. He had to find whatever remained of the grounders that once lived upon the dragon's back.

He did not know that they had moved to the coast, nor would he have suspected it without redirection, so he moved without aim and grew despondent within days of his entry to the wilds. Easily agitated, spiteful to the beasts upon which he supped, and directionless to a maddening degree.

When he came upon the scent of wolves he had not expected it, yet felt a great swell of ego at his accomplishment all the same. They might not have been his people, but he would learn what he could from them. The ridge was easy enough to climb — and soon Crucifix was loitering among some weeping trees the likes of which he'd never come across before. The light played through their wilted boughs and danced across the pollen motes of foreign flowers, lending an ethereal and almost fey quality to the area.