Blacktail Deer Plateau To be a poet is a condition...

arcturus had not been sad to leave the sentinels behind. while the area came with great legacy, he often found the atmosphere morose at best -- he missed the clandestine views that the mountain ranges offered, and often felt suffocated by what he could only ascribe as a 'ghost' -- a restless, angry dinh which clacked along from burnt tree to tree, howling through wind and ash.

no, he was not sorry at all to leave.

presently he trailed wraen, an ear turned towards occasional blips of speech. if there was one thing among the many arcturus marveled about wraen (and maia), it was the seemingly untapped depths in which their imagination never failed to reach. if he were better endowed in terms of thinking himself, he might have rejoined with his own verse -- instead he offered a gentle wag of his tail and inquired: "who did peter come across?"