Sun Mote Copse seems every castle is made of sand

as was customary for the pair, they began to walk in silence. eventually wraen lead him to a den freshly upheaved -- he smelled no recent visitor to its quarters, and looked upon the dark hole abstractly.

now was the time she would leave -- how he would hate the feeling of sudden total isolation that would anchor to him. he pushed such thoughts deep down and turned to his friend. "thank you for everything. i'll contribute to the cache in the morning." he thought hunting might put his mind at ease, and give him some sort of purpose -- even if he was not able to do too much in light of his injuries.

seeing wraen go, arcturus waited for that flood of desolation to enclose around him. when it came and he felt truly alone, the mountaineer curled tight into an ebony ball, nose to tail, and begged for blissful sleep to take him to some reality far away, and free of such mortal troubles.