Two Rivers Isle Running up a mountain, chains tied to my feet

He rested near the basin overnight, then rose with the sun and continued his wearisome journey to the west. Once more, he found a mountain in his path. Peregrine deliberated over whether to turn north or south. He played eeny, meeny, miny, moe and wound up turning toward the distant coast. He strode alongside a slim, winding river, bypassing a large plateau (quite possibly the same one he had skirted around days ago) and finally slowed and stopped for a pit stop on a chunk of land plunked between the swollen forks of aforementioned river.

The June sun beat down on his back as he stretched out on a patch of dirt. Peregrine noted, dimly, that there were little shoots of green peeking out of the soil. That was a promising sign, although it would be weeks before the grasses properly regrew and maybe months before the herds returned to graze on them. The black wolf drew in a deep breath, nevertheless allowing himself to feel optimistic for the first time in what felt like ages.