Hoshor Plains a parlor glade

It had become a short day trip, his interests piqued on the edge of one forest to the sprawl of the plains. The tracks of larger prey were hard to ignore and the day had been early enough to set out wirhout much concern that his absence would be noted. He had come to the river by midday and crossed with relative ease—winter had not frozen it over, but the waters stayed shallow. The tracks had been easier to find in the snow then, marked by mud among other debris pulled up. There, the plains had opened up to distant mountains both ahead and behind, dotted with sparse woodland and hills.

Dirge could not see the herd that had come through, but he did not doubt their existence somewhere in the great unknown. There had also been a time when he had come through such a place, when summer had been at the height of its season and the day long. The days now were much shorter and that very sun once high in its sky now arched towards stretches of horizon. He cast a long shadow at the apex of a particular ridge and gave pause; his gaze searched wide for signs that he still remained on the trial of the elusive would be feast.