It must have been hours, the sun had crept its way further into the skies and still he had yet to find something nestled between his jaws. The hunger had bled out though, drowned out by the shrill hum of interest. There was a certain inquisitive sensation that befell the young Law as he traipsed through the Thicket—that was what the stranger had called it: the Thicket of Secrets. The mossy earth gave beneath him, cushioning each step he took further and deeper into his exploration of the land—the land that still deserved a name. His bones had forgotten their aches and pains, their fatigue lost to his newfound awareness of the land. But the thicket did not go on forever, no. It was not to be swallowed by horizons or oceans of any sort; instead he soon found the forest floor was replaced by large, cool stone. Boulders towered above him now, on either side their overbearing forms surrounded him, and beneath was a hard floor, moss only comforting the earth in small beds. The smell of blueberries haunted him, the sounds of birds overhead welcomed him, and soon he found himself peering down a shallow slope, and from below him the sound of laughing tributaries rose. The ravine cradled a narrow river—it only appeared narrow from his stand point. Again though, my curious stranger was caught at a crossroads. He considered returning, he considered making his travels down the river… Again, and idea that passed and without as much as a second thought, his paws found a path down the ravine. He shuffled his way through brambles and loose stony gravel until he found himself there: at the bottom, and at the very foot of a river bed.

Across, beyond treetops and shadows the sunlight poured through, grassy knolls awaited him; and he was quite eager to find deer loping through the emerald seas. He could catch the sound of the wind blowing like ocean tides through swaying grasses, could hear the voracious fluttering of broad eagle’s wings and the crowing of ravens. Life surrounded him, and he was eager to catch if only just a taste of it. The river would be no obstacle, and the ravine seemed little of a challenge. It was his pure luck he had came across the easy access to the river, for as he craned his neck back to look the way he came, austere towers loomed over; foreboding in their way. To say, they were foudroyant in manner. He had half a mind to explore them more, to take to them as mountain goats should. There was a keenly laid wolf’s smile crossing the ivory shores of his mouth, blackened lips tugged at the corners. His paws instead, they made their way into the thin river bed, the running course of It was low, the current was steady enough to appear still. The leather of those paws found themselves at ease as they pressed against wet pebbles and larger, smooth rocks; they soon found themselves more apt to be on the worn, soggy logs that rested in their watery graves. It made for an even easier crossing, it made for greater sense of exploration; as though he were a professor donning a fedora, a bullwhip tied to his side. He was a heroic explorer, searching for long lost civilizations and forgotten treasures. He was no cowboy then, nor some Spartan Warrior. He was Indiana Jones.