Following his encounter with Kerberos, Atlas ventured away from Bramble falls and into the forest standing along the riverbank. The sun shone brightly, creating dappled pools of gold and shadow on the ground where the sunshine was interrupted by the canopy of conifers. He moved at a moderate pace, somewhere between a walk and a jog, careful not to trip over the gnarled roots that protruded from the earth.
As he drew ever deeper into the forest, a sense of well-being washed over him. His daily life was riddled with anxiety, and he did not know exactly why. He suspected that it was due to the manner in which his father had treated himself and his siblings. It felt so strange to be able to wander wherever he wanted. To do whatever he wanted. There was no one to scold him, no one to hurt him or to tell him he was not good enough.
The ash-furred wolf tore himself away from his thoughts. They would return, but not now. Atlas leaped over a fallen tree, his hind foot catching upon on of the branches protruding from the dead tree. He was pitched forward, performing an involuntary half-somersault and landing upon his side. His auburn eyes were wide with shock. He was not hurt, and yet for a moment, he could not move.