Shadewood in war, victory

across the early vestiges of morning, syaoran treks away from the tangy salt and sand that lingers in the air of shimmering sands and into the towering woodlands of the shadewood. he peers up and over the horizon that should be painted a myraid of colors of spun sugar: blue and pink and yellow and orange — only to see the thick coiling of smoke in the distance. it draws a small terse line of concern across his mouth; a soft furrow of his brow ...but does not halt his journey.

into the cool kiss of the shadewood he progresses, shrugging past thick grasping vines and low hanging branches. his motivation is simple: find a shaded place to rest, with clear water to drink and something small to fill his belly.