Sawtooth Spire bleed through spaces

warsbane does not stay in one place for long.

when the golden fields had grown monotonous, he headed on. his path was unclear, his destination unknown but that was, perhaps, what he likes best about it.

the uncertainty. the thrill of the adventure; that of which he hungrily sought.

when he reached the cradle of sawtooth spire, he explored the hidden jewel it coveted, the dewy grasses and towering trees nestled betwixt the spires. an oasis among the clouds. the stream of meltwater was fresh, chilled as he sates his thirst; salmon pink tongue running across his jowls, against his liver colored nose to collect stray droplets from his drink.

it is here, near the stream that warsbane chooses to rest; travel weary and blanketed in a false sense of security offered by the guarding spires.