The copse was much darker than the vale—more appealing. He had managed to escape the veil of orange and was greeted by an array of earthy hues, which were much more pleasing to the eye. His steps were hesitant at first, for he had not ventured out this far on his own before, and he worried about encountering wolves that did not belong to his pack. Would they be as nice as his packmates, or would their tongues be sharper and their teeth hungry for little puppies? The thought made him shudder but he continued forward, mismatched eyes wide as he drank in his new surroundings.

He hugged the border of the vale, although he had distanced himself from the orange leaves. The new trees were spindly in appearance, almost skeletal, and made Sachiel slightly uncomfortable. He knew it was important to become familiar with the neighbouring territories, for he couldn’t remain in the vale forever, otherwise he would go crazy.

Especially with all that dreadful orange.

His mismatched eyes had begun to adjust to the shift in light, his features softening as he tried to commit as much of the copse to memory. There was so many trees! Was there even a place in the Lore that did not possess the tall, woody vegetation? His mouth had fallen into a soft o shape as awe consumed him, fuelling his cautious steps into the unknown.

The ethereal trees were intimidating in appearance, making the little Leigh realize how small he really was. His mismatched gaze studied the trees that surrounded him, his pace slowing as he debated venturing further. Part of him worried he would get lost, even though he knew it was unlikely. Somehow the boy had managed to remember every trail he had stumbled across and returned to the den unscathed, much to his mother’s relief. It was not even the smells that were familiar to him, for he still struggled trying to differentiate certain scents, but it was the sights that guided him home. Despite the similarities between the striped trees Sachiel had learned their differences. He new the one with the criss-crossed stripes led to the north, an area he had not explored much of, and that the tightly striped tree led to the clearing Castel had shown him.

His ears twitched at the sound of another approaching, his hackles raising defensively as he turned his nose to the intruder. As soon as he saw the obsidian wolf strut through the trees Sachiel’s features softened and a smile tugged at his dark lips. His paws curled into the dirt with excitement as he watched his father plop himself down at his side. He did not mind that the older Leigh was a man of few words—the agouti was quickly realizing that he, too, often kept his words to himself. Returning his bi-coloured gaze to the menacing trees before them he motioned at them with his nose, a single word falling off his cherry tongue: “Spoo’py.”

The colours were muted at the edge of the vale; they were not as harsh on his mismatched eyes as the never-ending orange sea that encased his pack’s territory. While the trees were spindly and were placed erratically outside the vale, they were oddly comforting. He shuffled softly in his seat, his shoulder pressed to his father’s leg. They trees weren’t too spooky with the ebony Leigh present, for Sachiel was confident nothing could hurt him as long as he was with his father. The boy was mostly independent, exploring the vale without the company of an adult and obeying the rules set in place. He kept to himself, ensuring he did not bother the adults (unless he required a playmate). He did not mind spending time by himself—sometimes he preferred it.

Sachiel understood that his parents were busy with their grown up duties and did not try to hold them back. It meant he was able to explore without a shadow following him, observing his every move. He did not stray past the borders often, and if he did he remained close, hugging the edge of the vale like he was doing now.

His ears twitched as his father spoke, his nose lifting slightly as his brows narrowed in confusion. How could plants help sick wolves? It did not make sense. Wolves did not eat plants—that was ridiculous! “T’ees he’p sick?” He asked, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. How bizarre. Surely his father was just pulling his tail… there was no way that eating plants made wolves feel better. Draven was a big fibber.

The tawny boy was completely oblivious to his father’s inner turmoil. His brows twisted together as he stared at the ebony male expectantly while he waited for a response. Again the older Leigh announced that trees could help a wolf feel better if they were a certain kind of sick. But surely that was impossible. Blinking furiously the boy gathered himself and trotted after his father, his ears pinned forward as he waited for further explanation. The dark male had motioned to a patch of trees that differed from the others, their needles a paler green and much plusher and calmer in appearance. The other trees were a more vibrant green, although the needles were similar in size. Their differences, however, were quite obvious to the little Leigh, as he committed both types of trees to memory.

He nodded softly in response to his father’s words as he padded toward the pale-green trees, his mismatched eyes widening as curiosity took its hold on his small boy. Herb. It was an interesting word, supported by other interesting words that his father propelled in his direction. Grass, moss, berries, flowers… the words meant little to the Leigh as he did not know what picture accompanied them. The only two that he recognized were grass and flower, for the former was common amongst the Vale and also varied in hues of green. The latter he had stumbled on by accident and had earned a few scratches due the throne bushes that shield the soft, pink-purple flowers from the rest of the Copse.

His eyes widened as his father reared onto his hind legs, his forepaws pressed to the pale brown trunk. The same brown that he had found in his own fur, along with his mothers. White fir. He nodded once more in understanding as he watched the bark fall from his father’s claws. Make the ouch go away? Huh. He stepped forward, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed at the fallen bark. “Whi’ fir,” he mumbled in response, repeating his father’s words as he nudged the brown wood with the tip of his nose. “Wha’ else ‘elp with sick o’ ouch?” He asked, although his mismatched eyes did not waver from the bark before him. He was busy trying to memorize the colour and the texture of the bark. 

It boggled the young boy’s mind that plants could make ouches feel better. The whole concept of wolves eating leafy things was mind-boggling enough, for Sachiel thought that they only consumed meat. There was a lot to being an adult wolf that Sachiel still had to learn about—but it was far too much to learn in one day.

He was fascinated by the words that tumbled from his father’s mouth, even if he did not fully understand them. Something about white fir being available all year and other plants dying in the fall. Huh. His head twisted from side to side, his brows pinched tight together as he tried to make sense of the adult words. Apparently the dying plants came back??? He shrugged and gave his father a tight nod to show he kind of understood what he was saying. For the most part. He would have to get another lesson on these magical, healing plants when he was older… and actually understood everything his father was saying…

“Grrrr-got,” he repeated confidently as he stepped toward the fungus, his nostrils flaring as he committed the scent (and sight) to memory. For head ouches. He poked at the branch with a wide grin tugging at his lips, his tail wagging enthusiastically behind him. “Show more! Walk!!!” He chirped as he bounced on his paws, his youthful gaze fixated on his father’s dark features. It was fascinating standing in one place but the boy wanted to see more... and he wasn't allowed straying too from the Vale just yet, so this was the perfect excuse to escape the suffocating orange.