Deepwood Weald i hate your friends and they hate me too

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The sun set each day, and every morning, when it rose, Pippin’s mood had yet to lift with it. The agouti Ostrega pressed passed the marked borders of the Firebirds, seeking space from the scents of his pack mates, distancing himself from them for now.

He skirted away from the chained mountain, uninterested in scaling the rocky terrain, and instead allowed the wooded Weald to pull him to its embrace. He sought seclusion—or a distraction, honestly—and for now, he simply wanted distance between himself and @Towhee.

Spring had finally melted the remaining snow, though the late morning gave way to a cooler rain. Seeking shelter further into the thickest trees, Pippin, for now, emptied his mind of everything and simply focused on exploring the land and his short reprieve.