Emberwood of mice

@Peregrine

The foliage of the trees shone nearly as brightly as Kierkegaard’s steady gaze. Already, they were showing signs of shedding their autumn leaves to make room for bare branches that would creak in the winter with heavy sighs or gusts of wind. The ashen male found himself plodding through a thin layer of bright orange and faded yellow. He was not the type to pay any mind to the changing of the leaves, or even the transitioning of seasons. Kierkegaard had kept to himself as well as he could. It was impossible to avoid coming across another wolf. The stench of pack territory seemed to surround him no matter where his strides took him. If it wasn’t a pack canine, it was another loner… seeking food or closure. He cared very little what their intentions were; his time with them had been short, concise. There was a disturbing lack of life in the fiery woodland stretch. The further that Kierkegaard seemed to travel, the less he could sense in his surroundings. No large prey animals, no larger predators, and the smaller creatures seemed to dwindle. Solitude was always preferred over the company of others, but the eerie silence seemed to weigh heavy on the ashen male. It made him wary. Pausing in his trek, Kierkegaard’s vibrant gaze fell on the rustling of brush ahead of him, and he breathed sharply inwards in hopes of capturing a scent. A heavy frown fell across his features as he found himself unable to decipher any sort of telling sign that there was a living creature roaming the wild wood alongside him. Thinking to himself that there was a small possibility the being from the underbrush could have been his sister, the ashen male found himself growing more impatient. She was not that foolish, nor was she that childish. A heavy snort was the only sign of his resignation. Pressing forward, his lengthy strides continued to carry him through the brightly lit woods. Every so often, he would cast an eye over his rolling shoulder to watch for followers.