Broken Antler Fen this is not the sound of a new man

There had not been many changes to the Great Bear territory in the time that he had been away. The same stretch of mountains stood tall, proud, running toward the sea. Once, those mountains had been a hearth. Further north, he knew, but he had hunted along the rocky slopes for much of his early life.

Peculiar as it was, the jutting rock did not feel as much like home as it once had.

The inkjet beast trudged on with purpose in his step. The gold glint from his gaze shifted between stone and lush wetland. The sun was high above with little cloud coverage to conceal the blackhound shape that moved across the fen. Atlas did not pull his sights from the mountains running north. In the distance, he was certain that he could see the peaks where Moonspear had once resided. His brows furrowed with uncertainty.

It had been so long since he had seen his home.