When the autumn sweeps the leaves away and the cold mountain air settles in the valleys Chemdog feels something different in his bones. It is a shift, he is almost sure, just like the world around him. His inner pendulum swings slightly cocked, he supposes, and his blood runs a little colder beneath his fluffed thick coat.
All roads lead to the River. Well, for him anyway. His wanderings last for a while but the draw is always there and does not break until he crosses back into the ether. Once his big feet plant back onto Beqannian soil his soul takes a deep sigh of relief. His black coat is littered with dead grass and debris from rolling joyously around on the hard ground. He prefers bush-whacking around instead of taking the roads like a normal traveler and so that surely adds to his ‘decorations’.
He comes out into the open, crossing the mosses and tangled vines before emerging. The ground squishing beneath him, it is swampland in the low areas. He walks calmly, half alert, to the behemoth oak which stands proudly out among all its brethren. Beneath its sprawling branches its roots heave and curl all around. Offerings of fruits and special florals are left at its base. Something loves the horses here and things are left in places like this. Just small things here and there, perfect for a moment like this. To be greedy is a mistake, but if you take one and mutter a thank you Chemdog has found that you have no trouble. A green apple catches his eye and he takes it gracefully, nodding and muttering softly and walking off, toying with the small apple before crunching it satisfyingly between his molars. Yummm.
He moves off to visit his old flowing friend, the River. Guided happily by its gushing sounds he makes his way to its pebbly banks.
chemdog
astra inclinant, sed non obligant.
