The Heartwood i had seen the submarine.

@Kierkegaard <3<3<3<3<3<3

Harlyn had been intoxicated with the Spine since her arrival, and while she was desperate to know every inch of the land and every one of its inhabitants, the outside world still called to her. Finally, she heeded its call, if only to get to know the land that housed the herds her pack often preyed upon. The Cinderloch had come from a pack that was very in tune with the natural world, and though they had never named the forest spirits as their gods, they had always adhered to the heave and tow of the natural world with a reverence akin to worship.

And so, her heart thrummed with the desire to know the land more than she wanted to know even her own kind. To her, wolves were servants of the natural world, and also to all of its creatures. Harlyn's gaze swept across the land to the trees that bordered the near horizon. She had been told that this forest was called the Heartwood. It was an older wood than her Spine, judging by the sparsity of the leaves and the number of knots upon their trunks.

In only a few minutes, she had closed the distance between herself and the woods. One tree stood out to her beyond the others, and it was to this gnarled old beast that she approached. The Cinderloch gazed upon it solemnly, shutting her eyes after a moment to silently request its forgiveness for impeding upon its space. She stepped up to it shortly after and leaned the side of her head against it, pressing her ear upon the cool bark and then again shutting her eyes, listening for whatever tales it would tell.

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