Kintla Flatlands now I'm chained

He'd roved up and down the length of the flatlands, not quite daring to step foot into the valley. Her scent still blew to him on the window, sometimes. In the early days, while he was still recovering, Catamaran had wondered if it was only a fever dream. Some days, he still wasn't sure.

He was in the southeast, today. Or he thought he was. The fever was broken and his wounds and closed, but he was still weary in his head and in his bones. His pawsteps dragged as he looked for that big lake, or one of the rivers, or even that meadow of berries to stop and fill his parched mouth with something sweet and tart.

Catamaran wanted rain to fall. When he'd tired of searching, he sat in the tall grass and simply looked up at the sky, waiting.