Moonspear tongues on the sockets of electric dreams.

Penn winced a little as he trekked along the slopes of Moonspear. It wasn't too often anymore his old injury from his unexpected cliff-diving adventure troubled him anymore, but his most recent jaunt into the Wilds had left him aching. He'd been happy to come home a few days or more-ish ago (vague ftw) and get some rest, but now he was back to being his usual restless self.

After a couple of failed hunts, Penn had given up in frustration and annoyance. He felt like an old man and it wasn't a feeling that sat well with him. His belly groaning with hunger, he had made his way to a cache he'd placed just before his trip. He stood over it now, glaring down at the disturbed earth. His kills were there still, so it wasn't that he was faced with the prospect of not having dinner. He was simply annoyed to have leftovers because he was too old and decrepit to hunt himself down a fresh meal.

It was probably about time to have a mid-life crisis. How, oh how, to let that one manifest itself...