featuring Lord Rowan of Glenmore
Hills between Glenwood and Loch Kerr
AUTUMN - Year 756 of the New Age
With his nose to the dirt Rowan picked his way through the underbrush of the northern Glenwood, his eyes only half opened as he tried his hardest to concentrate. He moved slowly, his hooves hesitantly taking one step after another as he attempted to feel the forest around him. Where the hell was that meadowoak? He knew it grew in this area, but for now, it was eluding him. How long had he been out here? Pretending to know what he was doing… as he aimlessly wandered around. He’d seen his father pick a lone, single plant of his choosing out of a dense field, simply by using his magic to locate it. He made it look so easy. Frustrated, the grey stag snorted at the forest floor, sending up a spray of leaves as he stopped to glance skyward.
His breath turned frosty white in the autumn air as he again sighed. The hillsides were quiet this time of year