Blackfeather Woods Like summer storms, the skies as grey as leaves.

Set around June 20th.

He'd crossed the mountains. For one night he lingered in the mossy ruins of a home that once belonged to his bloodline, but bad dreams plagued him there. He slept for some hours and moved on, climbing down in to the next valley where he would find a sprawling meadow as far as he could see from the hillside.

Mesa stopped to drink at a river and followed that until the urge to avoid the summer heat drove him beneath the cover of trees. The forest that he now inhabited felt as if it were sighing around him; it was mild but not cold, and the wind made the branches groan.

It felt like a lonely place.