planning a crash landing

The Warlord had made his way towards the Eatern territories, not too far from home. His slow and steady scouting told him what he had already begun to guess. The last traces of the ‘ooze’ were vanishing from the land. The occasional appearance of an infected beast was an outlier - one he put down quickly, and burnt. They never had learnt how the disease had been transmitted.

His paws crunched gently on the spring grass as he arrived at the lake. It had been a long time since he had been here last, but a quick glance told him of the absence of fireflies. A natural phenomenon that appeared at night, telling him this place had also returned to normal. With a pleased grunt, he considered his next objective, and then paused.

His eyes caught on the panther that stalked slowly through the grasses by the lake. Its attention not on the towering Warlord, but the much smaller, paler creature lapping at the waters. A searching glance found the shape of crystals growing from its fur, a creature infected with the ooze. He snarled, the sound deep and vibrating in his chest. “Watch out!” he called, as he raced towards wolf and panther.

"Sirius Fatalis"