May 13, 2016; Early evening; Sunny; 68 ° F, 20 ° C.
It had been quite a while now since he had seen that first red-capped mushroom. So far, so good... at least, in regards to his (very) oblivious trek into the part of Canadian wilderness called Relic Lore. He'd seen only a number of mammalian creatures - foxes, coyotes, and otters - along the way, if only due to his eyes remaining on the ground a few meters in front of him. For the most part he was actively studying the plant life and, every so often, he would stop to smell any number of things: a broken branch, a flowering shrub, a rotting log, a flattened patch of grass... To say that Beirne Connor was looking for something was, at this point, an understatement. He was wanting, needing, longing for someone - and, that certain someone, was his brother, Quentin.
What was now a long time ago, Quentin had confessed that he was leaving. Beirne was supposed to be the only one who knew when and where he was going to leave the Weald, but little near-yearling Murphy had been nosy enough to get in on the big secret. He was going west, Quentin had said and Beirne was already second-guessing at this part of his journey that his brother had possibly said he was going east. 'I'll follow the streams,' he had said, 'and if th'river leads to the sea, I'll go 'bout the coast. If I end up at some random spring or the start of the river, I'll find the easiest way through the wood. Follow if ye want, but I'm goin' where I can be me own man.' He had even gone so far as to remember the things that had been said to their younger sister, 'Ye be a good lass, Murph. Maybe one day we'll meet again, but 'til then... Do what Mum an' Alby tell ye an' tell 'em not to worry. I love ye.'
All Beirne had received were a bunch of vague instructions; and, in the end, he cursed to himself for leaving so late. Quentin had gone at the end of Winter - now Summer was on the rise.
Through the dappled wood he went, cautious more than ever as he descended from the red, sand-covered hills. Not even ten steps past the tree line, he felt something sharp and thorn-like press its way into the underside of his left-- "Awwwwfeckin' 'ell!!" -- paw.
He stumbled backwards onto his rump, crying out in pain as he sent himself into a panic in trying to remove the Douglas Thornapple twig from in-between his paw pads. Desperate whimpers lifted from him as he grit his teeth, flinging the thorn-covered stick as far as he could manage without getting up - it practically just flew over his shoulder and landed by his black-tipped tail. If he ever managed to find Quentin, and he was still ever so hell-bent on the idea, he was going to be sure the older Connor never heard to end of his complaints regarding what it took to get this far.
MAY THE ROAD RISE UP TO MEET YOU
Taekwondo (M, W, F) | Rapid-Response Day (Tu) | WoW Nights (F, Sat, Sun)
Quentin may possibly join in any thread Beirne is in at any time, unless requested otherwise.