Hoshor Plains Held his heart in his hand, and ate of it.

The formidable chain of mountainside jut from the landscape like the curling digits of something long dead; trying, with great futility, to seek the dawn. Beyond that lay acres of wild-grown hills, juniper trees, low shrubs, scrubgrass far as the eye could see.

Admittedly, this eye wasn't focused on such things.

The further afield that the wolf went, ambulatory in fits and starts, the more desolate the world became. If there were trees further along, they were wreathed in a shimmer that gave the impression they were not real; the heat grew and grew as the hours passed, until the wandering corpse of a man felt the swelter and had to rest in the middle of the barren plain.

Everything gossamer, with colors bleeding mercilessly together, and the shape of something large, dark, and winged soaring above it all. This was what drew the man's focus the most - what had led him from the frozen hearth of the north and over the mountains. Even now he stared as if transfixed upon the vulture, which followed him as fixedly as he did it.