QUINNAT THARIAN
Since the impromptu visit from Duskorna’s leader, Quinnat had been stepping up his patrols, in duration and intensity. The feather-clad wolf had started trying to hone his athletic skills, pushing his body in an effort to be ready. Because trouble wouldn’t stay far away forever; not with their immediate neighbours wanting to push their luck.
When Quinn had joined Verdantis - not so long ago, but by Ohr it felt like a lifetime - he’d seen it more as a refuge than a home. From the dark place the scout had been in then, the teachings of Ohr had glowed like a beacon. He’d never been devout in his life - but he’d arrived in Verdantis utterly purposeless, and keeping that beacon in sight had given him some direction.
Then, taking up the trade of sentry, Quinnat had become familiar with the land Verdantis laid claim to. That was when it had started to feel like home. He loved the roots of the place.
Borders and homes couldn’t be protected alone, though, and while Quinn had been more reclusive early on, he was making an effort to interact with his pack mates now. The trespassing incident had brought the need for Verdantis to work together into sharp relief for Quinn. Had they been more prepared, would Enya have made it past the borders? Had they been more organised, would she have been able to catch them out with her magic? And had Quinn himself been more proactive in getting to know the creatures who called Verdantis home, would Shifty ever been lured in by the Duskorna Monarch in the first place?
Quinnat wanted to talk to Urna, too - to explain why he’d given the order he had, but it was Gabriel’s scent he found first as he jogged towards Whitewater. The din of the rapids was crescendoing; he hoped the scent trail didn’t get lost in the rough waters.
“Gabriel?” he called out, his voice loud and clear but warm.
When Quinn had joined Verdantis - not so long ago, but by Ohr it felt like a lifetime - he’d seen it more as a refuge than a home. From the dark place the scout had been in then, the teachings of Ohr had glowed like a beacon. He’d never been devout in his life - but he’d arrived in Verdantis utterly purposeless, and keeping that beacon in sight had given him some direction.
Then, taking up the trade of sentry, Quinnat had become familiar with the land Verdantis laid claim to. That was when it had started to feel like home. He loved the roots of the place.
Borders and homes couldn’t be protected alone, though, and while Quinn had been more reclusive early on, he was making an effort to interact with his pack mates now. The trespassing incident had brought the need for Verdantis to work together into sharp relief for Quinn. Had they been more prepared, would Enya have made it past the borders? Had they been more organised, would she have been able to catch them out with her magic? And had Quinn himself been more proactive in getting to know the creatures who called Verdantis home, would Shifty ever been lured in by the Duskorna Monarch in the first place?
Quinnat wanted to talk to Urna, too - to explain why he’d given the order he had, but it was Gabriel’s scent he found first as he jogged towards Whitewater. The din of the rapids was crescendoing; he hoped the scent trail didn’t get lost in the rough waters.
“Gabriel?” he called out, his voice loud and clear but warm.