Dragoncrest Cliffs comes in the name of peace

for clarification: scarab's technically in dragoncrest cliffs but is very close to rusalka's borders.

something had awoken within scarab: stirring from a bone deep slumber like something both magnificent and terrible all at once. dominance. this imperial feeling that his chest feels too small to contain. followed closely as it was by hubris. the naive assumption that rusalka was a birthright — it was no one's birthright. to lead is to fight tooth and nail to secure and covet it. the youthful innocence that convinced scarab that he was untouchable.

perhaps he is a bit slower than his siblings to feel the tug of an inner-hierarchy and the need to either assert himself or fall into quiet submission. his menagerie had been both time and thought consuming but with his hiding place secured for his treasures it is easier to stop obsessing over the things: seaglass, bones, weathered pelts, and petrified things ( he'd recently found a mouse to add to the collection though the sandpiper is still, by and far, his favorite ) and focus upon that which mother nature has been impatiently trying to nudge him towards.

the early morning is ethereal as it's painted the color of candyfloss pink, purple and orange as the sun begins its ascension to its sky throne as the sugared beams of the moon dull and it becomes a pearlescent and stubborn disc in the sky. scarab casts a look at it to admire it but ultimately keeps pressing forward on his path. his steps slow but do not falter as he approaches the sound's notable and freshly marked borders. he counts the steps as he goes: one, two, three and then ...four and he has stepped out of the veiled protection of rusalka and into the feral wilds that lay beyond with only a slight hitch of breath in his throat at the courage he'd mustered.

or perhaps it wasn't courage at all; yet this does not occur to the young boy: still full of childish purity and wonder.