The smell of plants had drawn Skoll away from the random paths through Cercatori d’Arte territory toward a very specific source. His tail was high behind him as he trotted through the grass, which had been dusted with frost when he first arrived but was only cool to the touch now. Spring was latent in the air, waiting for the perfect time to make a grand reappearance; already birds were heralding its coming, alighting on bare tree branches and twittering their territorial songs.
The Court puppy beamed as he pranced along, seeing the wood and stone buildings come into sight. The small town couldn’t truly be called that, as it was very overgrown with plant life—crawling vines, dead bushes, thorny brambles—but he could smell that canines lived there. He trotted on the cracked asphalt leading into Thornbury then turned immediately when he saw the wooden fence and the plants growing up on the other side.
The prince had been saddened to see all the dead wildflowers in his territory as well as the fields in d’Arte. The potential was there for everyone to see, but it was a harsh reminder of how winter made life difficult for the plants and the herbivores that relied on them. He’d yet to really know what butterflies were, or hummingbirds, or even bees and others who drank nectar and pollinated the flowers. All he knew was that the flowers wouldn’t return until spring.
Here, it was different, for the herbs were more various than the wildflowers that grew outside of the fence. His nose was bombarded with many different types of aromas, some that reminded him of medicine and poultices while others he recognized as spices on cooked meat. Still others were strange to him, and he quickly bounded up to the fence and put his paws on one of the posts, peering inside at the pots and the natural plots of land where the garden grew.
Glancing quickly over his shoulder to check for anyone approaching, Skoll decided to jump between the horizontal posts, squeezing in among the stems and disappearing into a sea of green.
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