Blackwater Islands the destroyer of nations

the dreadfather paces along the islands that they refuse to give up despite the dispersal of what had been left of the druids. it was still their home, their land — theirs.

the mid-morning is sunny, warming upon their back as they pace along the shoreline, ignoring the cold froth of seafoam that licks at their paws as they make their patrol. so the first batch of druids did not work out — such things happened, they reasoned. there was no reason to abandon their home when it could be rebuilt. recrafted.

seaglass gaze glares out at the mainland for a moment, letting the seabreeze whip at their fur for a moment before they continue on with their vigiliant patrol.