Fox's Glade dogma looks but never peers through the smog

back-dated to: may 27th. tags for reference! c:

the tirn paces through the myriad of colorful flora which in the midst of the sharp tang of blood that hangs in the air appears to falquan to be too cheerful, too colorful. an offer of false serenity and peace. he is unsettled ...by the maze of colors among a sea of emerald grasses, coarse hackles bristling as he drinks in the scents that litter the place. he recognizes two: @aurewen's, the heir to rhaesuial he was sworn to protect ( and clearly, was not doing a good job of ) and him. the huntsman. the others are all unknown, crisscrossing and confusing his trail.

fuck, he snarls. there were many problems here: largely that he wasn't able to tell whose blood he smelled on the air. perhaps it was a mixture ...or perhaps it was just one. fuck. he curses again, though it did little to loosen the knot of anger and worry that has become to gnaw at his stomach.