Ouroboros Spine dry country

In a sense, their stories could have mirrored each other, barring some parts. Mordecai had never had an issue with the leadership in most places, even including his birthplace. For him, it was the simple push, that indescribable urge for wanderlust that had eventually driven him out. The same wanderlust had brought him to the Wilds, and now to where he stood swiftly at the helm of a wilting pack. Months ago, he would have never seen himself in such a position, let alone having stayed for so long. It was strange to him, discovering just how easily circumstance changed everything. Much in the way Cuan mentioned beyond on the fringes of everything, Mordecai had been for some time.

“We wanted to have distance from the other packs,” Mordecai said, not dispelling that it was not himself who had been the one to choose the Spine. Jinx was dead now, and in a convoluted way he had helped to secure the claim she had made on the Spine. His qualms over bending that little shred of truth were evasive. “We used to live on a mountain at the other side of that nearby forest, though.” He gestured then, trying to capture a glimpse of Silvertip through the canopies. It evaded him too.