He couldn't remember anything about this place.
His childhood in Relic Lore had been a blur that he no longer recalled with any clarity, and now that he was back—and he knew he was back with a certainty born of nothing but intuition—he didn't know where to start. The woods were massive, larger than any he'd ever set foot in since leaving, and Darkwater Rapids was such a far away memory that he could hardly grasp it in his mind. He wasn't going to just stumble upon it by wandering about, but he couldn't remember where Cut Rock River had been, either. He had no starting point, and everything was unfamiliar.
Aimless, the black-haired male had made his way to the foothills, and up onto a flat plateau. He picked his way through the trees with their fledgling buds, ice water eyes darting about for anything familiar, but Mace knew better than to hope too fervently. It had been three years. It was really no wonder he didn't know where he was or where to go next. It would have been a miracle if he did. With a sigh that lifted the entirety of his broad chest, the Attaya sat heavily, drawing his tail tightly around his haunches as he considered his next course of action.