Silverlight Terrace the devil has the power to assume a pleasing shape

though the name of the territory goes unknown to the blackthorn he wouldn't be surprised if ever found it out. night falls and the fog thins in places as he is caught up in its embracing shadows ( not that he necessarily has anywhere to be ). the strata, while not notably very impressive to him during the daylight hours has transformed in the witching hours. the moonbeams are lured and captured by the grass, painting it in the moon's silvery color. he finds this fascinating despite that he's no geologist and doesn't really regard territories more than places he can hunt and find suitable shelter if it is equipped to provide it. the rolling hills thus far don't seem apt to offer him decent shelter but ailill doesn't yet feel the weight of exhaustion so he keeps moving, navigating the fog and inspecting the myriad prey scents of the terrace.