Jade Fern Grove azul

Where the ferns grew.

With a low head and eyes lackluster, he watched how each of his paws crossed over one another. Step by slow step, his nose awaiting the scent of prey again. Nothing was coming up. This attempt felt pointless again, yet onward he trekked. Trekked and walked, and he could do so for a while. It was not as if he hadn't spent nights alone like this before, looking for a deer or elk to pierce his teeth through. A herd had to be somewhere. Being like this, by himself, feeling the moon burn his fur and attempting to banish him back to the voided depths, reminded him of his previous winter. It reminded him of every day trudging through snow, charging head on at bulls, and feeling the fangs on their scalp try and pierce through his own.

He'd not gone into the fern forest before. Something about it had continued to ward him away. He lifted his head, staring at it. During the day, it felt eerily beautiful, but even then, he kept his distance. Moments were spent wondering, wondering, wondering. It felt closed off. Like he shouldn't have been going in.

So, he didn't listen, and he went anyways. He went with the intention of finding prey for a pack he was trying to call home, but struggled to understand what the meaning of that even was. When he crossed the border, he tensed his shoulders, going from a level head to a high one, as if it'd make a difference. This way, to him, he could see above some of the greenery, if not below it. Crickets screamed in his ears. At what point would they stop.