Instead of wandering aimlessly about, looking for something to do or something to eat, Sköll Archer, the prince of Willow Ridge, had better things to do. Earlier that morning, it had been in his fortune to procure a rather stinky, permanently surprised-looking catfish head. It had actually also been his luck that Angier was so willing to part with it as well. With a smile that seemed like it would never go away - so long as he kept the fish head in his possession - he began his journey away from edges of the Marsh, towards a place that seemed perfect for pulling his all-time favorite antic: hiding up in a tree's low-lying branches and dropping a peculiar and startling item of choice on his victim.
In the past it had been his 'toy' mouse (on a number of occasions), freshly dug-up hares, bits of leftover meal scraps, and countless spitballs. As for the location, he wanted some fresh blood. Anywhere near the Willows and he would find himself targeting members of the pack (or should the Old Gods forbid, his mother, brother, or sister, who without a doubt, would be more than irate from how he had chosen to waste his spare time). Somewhere near the Marsh and he would basically have to wait for Angier to forget he was nearby, still toting around his slippery prize. He had initially started off in the direction of Wailing Caverns but decided to stay away after realizing yet again that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with the Lady Narimé or her sons, Titan and Yuka.
Sköll shrugged to himself, running his tongue over the smooth surface of the catfish's forehead. Hush Meadow or Fireweed Rise. Hmm. A passing songbird chirped overhead as it flew by and the dark prince's head turned to the west. Hush Meadow it was...
For sometime he trotted along with a skip in his step, keeping his silvery eyes peeled for a decent tree to climb. He had to admit he was proud of how much he had grown. With longer limbs and a better sense of balance he had, at long last, managed to master how to truly become arboreal; and, in turn, he had learned to love the feel of the rough bark beneath his pads. Through the steadily spoiling scent of dead fish he attempted to sniff out any visitors in the area but found nothing more than the usual foxes, rabbits, deer, and an array of feathery things (particularly the stench of raven).
If the prince had not craned his head slightly to the right when he had, he could have missed the perfect tree altogether, and wandered across the meadow into the opposite tree line. It made his smile twist up along his ink-black face. The old thing was dead, everything, but it had grown several knots in its gnarled trunk over, what the near-yearling had guesstimated, several decades. Slightly biting down into the catfish cranium as not to lose it halfway up the deceased mulberry tree, he balanced his forepaws on the trunk and with a springy jump, clambered up onto the second lowest branch. Much to his satisfaction, he realized that his perch could have easily been likened to the thinnest part of his body, his lower abdomen, which meant that his new hiding place could bear his weight.
Silently, he snickered to himself as he lowered his rump into a sitting position, careful to wrap his tail close to his left hind leg should it fall and give away his position. Now all the had to was wait... wait... for someone to come along for a rest in this peaceful part of the Lore... to have an slimy, wide-eyed, open-mouthed surprise drop on their head.