The Murkwood Court was comprised of fools who thought they, of all creatures, could ignore their most primal of instincts forever. They were fools and cowards living their lives in the past and it took exile to see it all clearly. He was a victim of circumstance and prejudice. He was a victim of poor timing and poor mentalities. it was just not fair. But they were fools, and fools knew nothing of fairness; only foolishness. And he hoped they would one day suffer greatly for it.
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It started out as just another day for Blooming Grove.
Frustratingly quiet. Unendingly dull. Simple and uneventful just as he had expected. Morning had dragged itself into afternoon, where he lazed and loafed and mostly found ways to mope about his unfortunate luck. Then, the afternoon slipped into evening, with all his attempts to find company made in vain. It was a dismal life, one had come to find rhythm within, sure, but nonetheless terrible in every way. He loved the freedom to do as he pleased, but hated everything else about it.
The ‘hunt’ finally came to an end at a familiar clearing, just a mile or two from his newly forged den. Normally he would have crossed it without another thought, there was nothing particularly thrilling about it, but this time he didn’t. Or couldn’t? It felt as if he were up against a barrier, waiting for something to happen. Did a scent carry on a breeze and, subconsciously, lock him in place? Or perhaps instinct was reminding him to stay humble and aware? Regardless, the Elf would not/could not move past the threshold of the tree line. Instead, he watched as grass shifted, trees bowed, and the ever persisting lull of forest life went on about its business. Nothing seemed to happen, he grew increasingly annoyed, but still his legs would not move him.
This is silly.
But then, all at once, he caught wind of a scent, distinct and fresh and moreover close by and like pup stumbling across its favorite treat, Blooming Grove's expression shifted.
Or... is it??
Felyn