Emberflame Ridge i'm not above a love to cash in

the smell of sour-stale meat put a dour on his mood.

the man was inspecting a stricken tree, its charred remains repelled any green life in its radial area, an isolated dull reality amid a growing forest.

it had once lit, shuddered with electric power, a reminder of the divine above—

he turned away once he couldn't find the right word to complete his thoughts, thinking he would pass his time inspecting the natural activity of the area when he could.

an half an hour of wandering or so later, he come across a cross between something feral and domesticated, entirely mongrel, with the shedding curves that told of a womb who was missing a hummingbird heartbeat.

she was albescent and content and unassuming; she reminded him of his all-time lows, flocking with carrion-scavengers alike; so he decided not to startle this one, and chuffed lightly a distance a way.