The flame prince sauntered through the woods east of the Dreamer's Col, his paws stirring up ash from the fire that had ravaged this place two seasons ago. At six months old, curiosity fueled his every step; his eyes wide with wonder as he imagined the rest of the pack in these woods.. as they would have been before his birth. The blight had caused Armada to switch territories, but Balrog now wondered if these woods were safe. He approached a blackened skeleton of a tree looming in the middle of the forest, though the rest of the woods stood oddly untouched in the devastation. It's bark was warped, twisted like something out of a nightmare, and strange, brittle leaves stubbornly clung to it's limbs; was it regrowing?
The young wolf tilted his head, obsidian eyes glinting as he studied it. Questions swirled in his mind - did this action of blazing this tree stop the blight entirely, or was it still dangerous? Why had this tree survived if set aflame? He stepped closer, eager to uncover its secrets, though his heart raced a bit faster in his chest.
