Meadowlark Prairie Misery is contagious.

November 28

Rumor had spread through the wood that their leader sought information on another pack, one that Revui did not know anything about. He left after that; eager to stretch his legs and have a break from the pack. He'd gone from captive to soldier but that didn't mean he was loyal to them—nor was he all that thankful—besides that, all the time spent in the pit had left him bitter. He needed to blow off steam, and the task sounded easy enough.

He roamed due-north of the forest; judging from his starting point by the pit, he emerged from the woods and soon enough found himself climbing across barren red rock. Not even the snow had touched the steppes yet (although there were silver clouds gathering overhead which threatened to vomit fresh snow soon), and the blustering November wind had a biting quality to it. Enough that he had to duck and move with its flow lest he waste energy fighting the pulse of it.

After a few hours of this he found himself somewhere white. In the warmer months the meadow would've been rich with life, deep and green and speckled with all manner of flora; now though, it was a wasteland. He paced through the heart of it and stopped on occasion to sniff the dirt, scratch at the soil, pull at one weed or another—but there were no signs of life here really, nothing tangible or useful.

Revui left gouges in his wake, and cleaved through the snow with his grizzled body, at least until the snow began anew and filled those gaps behind him.