The Sentinels mother earth and father time

The saltfang followed several paces behind the stag. Lionel had ventured on ahead to search through the wood. Knaven was still shocked at how much the fire had ravaged the territory, stripping it of the magic that might have dwelled there in a time before they were alive. Still, his teachings in the way of the witchdoctor had taught him well enough of the spirits that lingered in the waste. The sentinels were still very much alive. Time would restore the towering redwood trees; the world would return the wood to glory. The rogue simply did not know how long it would be. 

Growing bored of wandering in the ash, Knaven pointed himself toward the scent of his brother and trotted confidently in that direction. When he saw the golden cloak of Lionel, he noted the tension in his kin's frame. Dropping instinctively into a crouch, he closed the gap between them and brushed his muzzle to the other's haunch as a warning of his presence. The stranger ahead of them was painted golden too, but he was not known to the two sea wolves.