The water was quick and loud, but not orange loud. Good loud. Like a blue-green song bird or the soft grey crack of thunder rolling overhead. He remained close to the dark forest where he had encountered Askan, the crimson voice. The boy hadn’t decided if he wanted to stay, but he liked having options. The Vale paled in comparison to the northern forests, for every turn he took led him to something new; something different. Which meant that there was still more to be discovered, like the gushing river that ran parallel to him. And, potentially, even more wondrous sights if he continued north, with Diego.
He kept his distance from the water as it flooded over rocks, tumbling further into the forest, dragging fallen sticks along with it. A soft drizzle of rain slipped through the branches overhead, bombarding the dark agouti as he meandered along the river’s edge. The swollen river was a result of heavy rain, which meant it would only get worse as the days grew colder and darker. Which meant he would have to mind his paws as he ventured along the water, for he did not want to slip and get dragged under. Then he would never be able to finish his adventures…
Sachiel was fond of mornings. Like song birds they were blue-green; good. He liked the way the morning light illuminated the forest, bringing the subdued colours back to their former glory as darkness trickled away. The colours here, in the northern woods, changed so frequently—and not just because of the season. Every day was different. Sachiel liked that.
Plus, he seldom crossed anything that resembled the dreadful orange colour. Aside from a few dead leaves, strewn across the decaying ground.
Which he would then trample with his oversized paws until the orange was no more and his head no longer ached.