Lion Head Mesa Shake like the bough of a willow tree.

It is overcast, even in the mesa's heartland. That does not prevent the heat from creeping in. If anything, the clouds trap the humidity and make the warmth of the day feel heavier. He feels it; creeping along the outskirts where few wolves bother to tread alone, this dark and lumbering shape.

This place is too hot for him, even at night. The man prowls as he hunts for shade, of which there is very little, and stops to sprawl pantherine beside a squat tower of stone. For a few hours at least, Raimo can try and catch his breath. Once the sunlight shifts enough to be upon his back again he will move along.