The Sentinels revenge is in the creator's hands

The evening air toyed with the jagged black fur along his neck and shoulders, lifting it into a stiff dance. As he peered on the dismal display of ravaged forestry, Ford could not help but feel severely disappointed. For all of his mother's stories of the mystic wood, this was not what he had hoped to see. It gripped something within him and twisted it into a vicious anger.

Ford smothered those feelings with all of the weight that he could.

The wind brought the scent of Velen to him. The titan peered carefully through the scorched wood and sought the chestnut coat of his brother. Stepping with careful precision, Ford followed the aroma of familiarity and finally locked his mismatched gaze on the figure up ahead. Surely, Velen was feeling a similar way about seeing the forest in its current state. Surely, he felt the scorch marks within him just the same as Ford did.

The inkhound pulled up alongside his more richly-colored littermate and motioned to brush his muzzle against the other male's shoulder.