The Heartwood xxxxiii. by the emptiness

Rescuing older threads!

Mesa wasn't his usual grizzled self today. He had found a blackened patch of woodland and the sharp smell of the landscape had drawn his attention, to the point that he rolled in the blackened dirt or climbed his way across fallen logs and through moss; he was therefore, streaked with green, black, brown, and ocherous stains from the biodiversity he had trampled. In his wake was a path of destruction winding through the woods.

Aside from that, the wanderer had found little to keep him interested. The lowlands rarely held his fancy for long — he much preferred the mountains, favoring the look of the horizon from on high. The challenge of climbing and the inherent strength required for mountain living were strong motivating factors.

For now he was prowling among the trees of the Heartwood, unaware of the presence of another. When the sound of something moving caught in his ears he grunted to himself, almost like he was waking up from whatever had possessed him to run amok through the trees in the first place, and redirected his energies in to pursuit mode. 

The stranger moved with more finesse than he did; he caught glimpses of her silhouette haloed by dust motes on occasion and paused over a length of tread in the mud, sniffing at the path she had vanished down, then moved to follow.