Bearclaw Valley Far across the blue waters

how enlightening, drawls tzar, all thorny venom as his razor-sharp guard rises.

a ghost town.

...said as much, didn't i? he pushes forward, though every step further feels like an added weight, pressing against his chest, against his ribcage.

deeper and deeper.

each breath shallower and shallower.

until it is mechanical. paws following the familiar cut of land towards the ruins of the communal den, as if following the ghosts of his own past: a much smaller version of himself galloping clumsily at his mother's heels.

a brief moment of happiness before it was stolen from them.