Stormcloud Moor Granite

The will of fire will burn

An almost desiccated wasteland.

For lack of a better term, that seemed the most ideal way Sukea could describe the landscape that surrounded her now in comparison to that from which she came from prior, the various shades of brown and sparse greenery of underbrush that managed to claw its way through the solid earth underneath a welcomed change from a world seemingly painted in hues of colors that screamed danger to those willing to heed its warnings.

Jade tinted eyes flitted back over a marbled shoulder in the direction she had come from, observing the faint, hazy layer of smoke that tauntingly remained on her trail despite the distance weary paws had managed to secure between herself and the flames of the fire that hungrily consumed everything in its path. Yet again causing the near inseparable siblings to become just that. A forest fire sparked by the first of presumably more lightning storms that came with the sweltering summer heat. Mother nature's way of cleansing earth to be born anew, or keeping the siblings from fulfilling their mission, Sukea couldn't decide yet.

A soft cough racked the woman's lungs then, an unfortunate result of being caught in the fire's path and its smokey companion having the audacity to fill her lungs so heavily. Although, the severity had seemed to improve and breathing easier over time her throat still bore the harsh dryness that required more stops for water the woman cared to make yet this place seemed to lack the ability to contain what she craved most. Disgruntled, a huff was made before contrasting limbs pushed onward in search of what she needed. There had to be life elsewhere.

And it don't suffocate

-- I don't think I've gotten to write with you yet, hopefully you don't mind!

He had thought that dark forest he’d encountered some moons ago seemed inhospitable, but in comparison to this terrain, that area had seemed like a paradise. This, on the other paw, was as far from any kind of paradise as Jadon had ever seen.

It was the closest thing to hell on earth he believed existed. Barren, desolate, almost entirely absent any form of life. Even the air was hot, kicking up dust and dirt, whilst also tainted with the scents of fire and death and smoke. The wind made it near impossible to lock on to any kind of scent except for what swirled around him. But he didn’t think anyone had been here for a long time.

The wanderer was not keen on remaining, either. He kept his nose lowered toward the ground, ears tucked back, and continued in the closest thing to a straight line that he could possibly manage.

This couldn’t go on forever.