Phantom Hollow sweet potato pie

It seemed that the Cairn curse had taken its toll on the pallid creature. He had been away from his beloved ocean for too long, and it had started to press against him like thistles. The long-limbed seafarer had not eaten in a day and while his gut clenched inside of him, he felt as though he was more inclined to return home than he was to stop and hunt. Further from the sea, he was at a disadvantage with prey and he did not have Sandpiper to assist him in his task.

The evening air bit against his flesh with each nipping breeze. The long quill-like hairs along his neck and shoulders had risen and swayed until the breeze slipped away and left the duskiness in a still and quiet chill. His steps had slowed some of their pace before he realized that he would need to rest before returning to the bay. As he closed in on the hollow, Smokestep drew his head upward and drank in the scent in a search for signs of a pack. Verifying that he was free to move through, he began to trek into the territory. There was an eerie calm to the terrain that he could not place, but as the marauder weaved his way through desolate trees, his steps became far more cautious.