Deepwood Weald so blissful i press on

As the days went on, he became more and more fine with leaving Cortland while he went on hunting or scouting trips. Not completely fine, mind you--he didn't think he ever would be--but mostly fine, at least. In any case, Poet was there if the boy needed anything, and Phocion was never gone for too long. Though today, he strayed even farther than usual, traveling past the glacier and the field to enter the forest, tucked underneath the walls of the quarry.

Game must flourish here, in the cool shadows. It was earlier than he usually was awake, which threw him off a little, but perhaps that was best. He was so comfortable and in tune with the night that sometimes he felt like it affected his hunting for the worse; he was too content, under the stars. Now, his fur bristled slightly, and his eyes held that glint that came from a manic exhaustion--alert, but with sleep pulling at the corners of his senses.

Movement ahead made his head lift suddenly, alert, and his icy gaze sought the source of the subtle noise, so faint among the other sounds of the forest. It wasn't long before a brown-hued male came into view, leaf-dappled pelt camouflaged well in the woods. Knowing that his camouflage was sub-par, at best, Phocion realized he'd be in sight soon, and gave a friendly chuff, so as not to appear shifty.

He kept quiet, otherwise, waiting to see whether the other would acknowledge his presence or simply move on. These woods were big enough for the two of them, after all.