Cedar Sweep every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main

Let's kick this back to, oh, September 8? Vaguey vague on last thread outcome.

Eventually, he had hauled himself out of whatever earthly hell that ravine was. If he were less devoted, Hrishikesh would cast serious doubts upon whichever of his fellow deities had cast him down there. Sure, the goal had been met—he was mortal, walking upon Earth—but it came at a cost.

After parting with the young woman, he came here for rest and recuperation. His injuries were not insignificant; though he no longer bled, he was still banged up quite a bit, and his head still throbbed. Thankfully he'd broken no bones and his wits, it seemed, remained intact.

So Hrishikesh would dwell among the cedars for a time, eating things for which he had the energy to catch. The god lay in the sun-dappled shadows this early evening, tail idly whisking, his eyes half-shut. Drifting into a nap. He was gaining his strength; planning his next move.

But there was no clear objective, other than bettering the lives of those around him. So far, he hadn't seen another soul here. If the forest remained vacant, he would move on; he needed to be with other wolves to be most effective. To lead them, to guide them, to grant them peace and happiness.

He needed camaraderie, and to find it in this world, he would first have to find an ambassador.