Cedar Sweep nordstjärna

There was blood in the air.

It was strong enough to make his belly rumble and not enough to make an obvious trail, as he soon discovered. It did not help that he was hunting in the dark—going by scent as much as was possible, rather than sight—which made everything monumentally more challenging. Rosenskärm hoped madly that his silent prayers to the stars would cause a shift of some kind: that they might summon a mighty wind to blow the clouds away, or shine brighter themselves so that he could function better.

These terrestrial matters, while important, were not his forte. It had been days since he'd eaten. Many nights spent wandering with his eyes heavenward rather than ahead of him, which was why he had become so turned around in this place. If he could at least get a warm meal in his belly, he could try to sleep through the night feeling a little more whole.

Flicking his tongue across one deep green leaf, he could at least surmise that something wounded had passed through here recently—but in which direction?