Wapun Meadow the color of blood in the violent setting of a dying sun

@Keen <3

 

the battle that had been fought between the wolves of ursus and the wolves of easthollow had left him feeling dour. the ghost ventured out of the pack that night in search of fresh water to run over his muzzle. the wolf merrit had left him with four scores to the bridge of his nose. they stung every day and often reopened. he had not thought to bother evien with the wound, fearful that he would be wasting the medic’s time with his pathetic injuries.
 
the witch morgana had been the one who had taken the real prize. she was a brilliant fighter, he thought. the savagery in her was unlike any he had ever seen before. though he had only been able to steal a single glance at the dark she-wolf during their fight, what had been seen had been impressive. he wondered how she was faring and scorned himself for thinking of her at all.
 
the ghost wandered into the meadow in search of peace and slumped to the grass when he found a quiet place. the sound of an owl could be heard in the distance, but the only noise to exist in the air around where illidan rested was the sound of cicadas humming their song. he breathed a heavy sigh and let his eyelids flutter heavily with sleep.