Wapun Meadow I of the storm

Step
Step
Step

Clay weaved his way through the tall grass of the meadow, sun beating down upon his spine and warming his dark-toned fur. He had nearly forgotten the feeling—what it felt being here, being back in Rising Sun. Being among the luscious and bright grass, the sweet smell of the breeze tangling within his silken fur, the soft sounds of songbirds woven with the far off rustling of the trees in the wind. It was magical— ethereal even in the young prince's mind.

But of course, all the sweet things must come to an end.

Stopping abruptly at the stench of his nightmares, Clay turned around frantically and looked about, his gaze scanning the horizon line while a growl gurgled within his throat. Not here. Not now. Couldn't they just leave him alone? He had hoped, wished, that now as an adult he would be able to put that terrible life behind him.

Stalking forward with tail raised and body posed to strike, the Easthollowian crept forward with precision and purpose. His long limbs gracefully falling to the padded dirt in soft steps under him.