Emberflame Ridge watteau

Daylight caught in the leaves of the red trees and blazed there, illuminating everything still crowning the boughs, although much of what remained had since piled upon the earth and begun to rot. It was good for hiding in; good for prey that thought itself safe to crawl the earth.

Mok was desperate. Poor hunting in their habitat had driven them this far - stalking the redwoods, following an irregular swaying path to a new place. It smelled of autumn and earth here. Of mice, pheasant bird, and rabbit.

It also smelled strongly of cat; this is what made Mok so nervous now. Their climb upon the ridge slowed as they took on a more cautious stride, gambling with every step.