The Floodlands Whisper, Oh, Great West

They traveled westward for many days, stopping only to catch a nap or fetch a meal. Totoro tried not to think about Marie too much. They let themself recall her fondly, though they redirected their focus elsewhere when they began dwelling and missing their connection.

This morning, they walked through a thicket and emerged at the foot of a plateau. They considered climbing it to check out the views, though something prompted Totoro to walk around it instead. They found a waterfall on the far side and took a seat to marvel at it a while.

By mid-morning, the wind picked up a little, a southerly blustering down from the coast. It carried the scents of a pack, causing Totoro’s nose to wriggle with interest. They found their feet again and began to wander a little further west, the plateau and waterfall receding behind them as they approached the fork of a river.

The ground softened, becoming spongy beneath their paws. Totoro knew this place must be full of groundwater as a result of runoffs. They peered along the branches of the river, then tilted their snout into the wind to pinpoint the location of the pack they’d scented.

For the moment, they did not notice the single wolf much closer at hand.