Luneshale Pass Doors opened

As bats wove their nocturnal tapestry through the whimsical hues of twilight and the sun descended with a graceful sigh, cradling the world in the embrace of slumber, Machiavelli prowled the lowlands. The journey had commenced at dawn, a silent stalk through sands and scrub, fueled by an unwavering purpose—a quest for botanical treasures.

His quest had driven him toward water, and the pass it sculpted, tracing its banks with a discerning gaze for flowering shrubs and clay deposits, each holding the promise of future utility. Thus, his evening unfolded—bobbing and weaving between all of the interesting things that had captured his attention.

When the day's enchantment waned and the notion of rest tiptoed into his contemplations, Machiavelli altered his course homeward. Pretty ideas of future projects pirouetted through his mind, and he intended to savor the luxury of daydreaming all the way home. However, the delicate sanctuary of his fantastical musings was abruptly split by a cacophony of ear-shattering barks.

An annoyed expression etched across his fair features as he surveyed the surroundings, only to soften into a mildly irritated countenance upon identifying a familiar impish figure frolicking in the distance.

Only after the first syllable of her name escaped his lips did he realize his mistake. The scent was not hers, but that of a stranger. Who was his entertaining acquaintance's doppelganger? Machiavelli gracefully pivoted on his heel, leaving the serenity of his path to venture toward the unknown.

Nails clicked on the glimmering earth as he navigated through the pass, bathed in the radiant glow of mica-laden surroundings. The shimmering particles caught the twilight, transforming him into a specter—each step a captivating play of light and color on his glossy fur.