Meadowlark Prairie you dream, some nights, of a labyrinth deep underground

The earth beneath his feet was turned brown and dark with the promise of what was to come. There was not a tree in sight, though he squinted in an attempt to see something beyond the desolate sea of dying grass. Surely, the prairie had to have known life in the summer months.

He could almost hear the birdsong.

Beyond, Cavendish could see the jutting stone that formed the indomitable mountain range. He wondered if it was wise to venture there; if there was a chance he would harm himself on a terrain he knew little about. The unknown of it was appealing, but his sheltered heart told him that he was better off in the woods. As if the world moved to echo this feeling, a wide-winged owl swooped over his head and fluttered toward the forest beyond.

He felt defeated, belittled and used.

He felt defeated, dumb and blind.

Kalganov should have known better than to help anyone. Maegi, Mou, the fiery captive. Redhawg. That was all he had left to remember and it tasted bitter in his mouth, he was consumed by fire at night. He paced the corners of his home where she should have been but...she was gone. For good most likely. He didn't blame her one bit but that didn't wash away the bitterness or kill the fire within him.

So he slipped out into a place where he wouldn't feel consumed by fast made memories. What he spotted was strange though. A build like nothing he had ever witnessed and it almost made him uncomfortable. So he stood out in the open, able to be seen as he watched the creature with sharp acid eyes.

Suddenly, there was someone other than the prince. The creature was typical for his breed. His eyes were what caught the attention of Cavendish. They glittered and pulled with the color of poison. Though the stranger was wary of the prince, his gaze also caused the hound to pause. 

The wariness still did not strike him. Cavendish moved toward the other. He drew his crown upward, fixing the wild wolf with a narrow muzzle and eyes the color of his pelt. There was no hesitation to him. Nothing that suggested he was afraid.

The strange creature approached and Kalganov stood his ground. The look that had settled on his face was rather neutral. He had not come here for them. He had not come here for anyone. In fact, he had hoped to be alone but it seemed the world wasn't done twisting his leg just yet.

Who are you? He asked coolly. Perhaps it would have been better to ask what he was. Obviously a canine but not any sort that Kalganov was familiar with. A brow raised sharp and expectantly. It was clear he did not want to wait long for an answer.

The wolf was pale and marked with cream along his muzzle and skull. There were splashes of charcoal that rested in places along the stranger's sides. Cavendish was not subtle about his viewing of the beast. He wished to analyze and understand before he found his tongue to introduce himself. For his wandering gaze, he did not miss how the beast was looking upon him; there was curiosity and wariness there.

With a sweeping of his tail, the willowy hound dipped his torso toward the earth and held his position there – just as he had been taught in his youth. Then, when an appropriate amount of time had passed, Cavendish rose and latched his ghostly gaze with the wolf. “I am Cavendish Davenport II,” he introduced in a voice that sounded as though it belonged to an angel. There was a singsong air about his speech, and once he had concluded his introduction, the prince curled his lips into a polite smile.

“And who do I have the pleasure of meeting on this lovely fall day?”