Cedar Sweep Half Algorithm, Half Deity

Beau had no inkling of just how easy a task escape would be. Leaning back against the sturdy trunk, Machiavelli angled his body to keep his injured leg out of sight, the shadows from the branches dappled his fur, softening his silhouette. He seemed utterly at easy, the perfect picture of confident, perhaps even cocky, indifference.

Though secretly his heart sparked within his chest. The lowlands? the dog repeated thoughtfully. I believe they're to the east, over the mountain range and past the desert. He let his head fall against the bark, doe eyes passing over the stranger. Large. Stong.

You're headed that way?