Wild Berry Meadow pestilence-stricken multitudes

change how you feel —
about everything

Casting aside all that has plagued him is not an easy process, but the process itself is far from the hardest part. It is the forming of new habits, the replacement of faded old photographs and the tearing of dog-eared pages from books in hopes of finding new passages to highlight. Anger and hurt no longer drive him — only a deep sense of duty, and a pressing need to explore every inch of the world, both seen and unseen. He doesn't know what to do with these feelings just yet, but he's starting to get some idea of it.
He takes to the meadow, this time not to explore, but because he knows it as a peaceful place to think. High traffic, judging by the scents, but the silent breeze and the soft feel of greenery under his paws are worth the risk of unwanted company. The Woods are his home, comforting in the way only a true home can be, but the meadow is rapidly becoming a second home of sorts. A place to think. He stops to sniff idly at a faded scent trail, distinctly wolf but too faint to gather any more information. He can't help wondering where the wolf might have come from, what their purpose here was, however brief or vague. The thought feels relevant, somehow, to his own dilemma — not a need for purpose, but a need for a plan. A way to fulfill his purpose, the right steps to take to walk down the path he has only just cleared his eyes enough to see. It'd be easier if Mephala was a little less vague, but maybe that's the point. Maybe he's meant to figure it out on his own.