more like wet willows

As though announcing the Shogun's arrival in the west, the skies overhead became overcast and dark, a spring shower following suit as Hattori took shelter beneath the Whistling Willows. He did not mind the rain and knew it would pass soon enough, but he couldn't help feel a tinge of bitterness as he tipped his head up to look at the slithers of grey cutting through the willows branches. Supposedly a pack had once called this place home and yet as the Shogun gave this place a cursory once over he saw little to suggest as much. As though their impact on the land was limited, a truth once long forgotten as the land fell into disuse. Would such a fate befall Ashen in time? The pale of his brows furrowed as a displeasure flickered across his usually blank features. He would not let that happen, ever.

Coming to a stop, Hattori looked at the rain churned mud beneath his talons. Perhaps it would be worth his time to hunt in these parts, with plenty of tracks to follow.