Firefly Glen Eat your heart out.

The glen was... quaint, or that's the word that he'd use if he knew it; busy was pretty good too. There were all kinds of scents in this place and nothing really cohesive about it, along with winding paths in the dark.

He tried to gather his bearings by exploring some of the more Osiris-y smelling routes but found bodies ambling on patrol, or youthful faces chattering with one another. Some shot him curios looks and Mesa ducked away from them. Having gotten on fine as a lone wolf (for the most part) joining a still-in-transition pack full of young blood made him nervous.

Well, people made him nervous. The shadows, too. Not afraid-of-the-dark nervous, exactly. The boy liked knowing what was out there, and in this instance, he didn't have the luxury. It was unnerving.