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Ithiel is by me!
Though Ithiel knew there had been no packs in the northlands previously and suspected it would be much the same, he knew he must venture into them at least partway to ascertain his suspicion. At least now the path through to the far side of the mountain was relatively clear. He could give Anathema a wide berth, drawing close to their borders only when comfortable doing so -- which was never, really. The previous pack which had also occupied the Halcyon Mountain had made close proximity to the border impossible, however, and Ithiel had not liked the feeling of being squeezed between two wolf packs.
In contrast to the thick forests of the south, the land here was scarred and craggy. The only plants were low, hardy scrub grasses -- post-fire opportunists, though Ithiel did not know this for certain. He had seen such plants far out west in his homeland, the types which grew virulently after fire bared the land to the dirt. He could not recall the source of this information, but he remembered a soldier or scout pointing out these plants to him on an expedition, and explaining their mechanism. Fire did not kill them -- on the contrary, fire triggered something within their biology. These plants needed fire to seed as the tree needs sunlight to grow. Ithiel had been fascinated with this, and it now surfaced from somewhere in the murkiness of memory as he surveyed the grasses that reminded him so much of home.
Outside of the grasses, though, there was a distinctive dustiness to the air here. Where the southerly land was obscured by fog, dirt and dust seemed to play the same role here. The horizon was barely visible through a green-gray haze Ithiel assumed to be dust. At least, it was in his best interest for it to be so -- if it was a storm, he might need to seek shelter, and such would be difficult to find here. Lystra was soured by this land -- she seemed to dislike the fire grasses, and had been sullen since their arrival in the lands beyond the mountain. In contrast, Zedekiah seemed like he belonged here -- at least, as far as Ithiel could tell from such a distance between himself and his bird.
Zedekiah dipped lower and lower, and a loud grunt drew Ithiel's arm reflexively up. The bird came to a rather messy landing, and Ithiel waved in the saddle a moment. Lystra snorted her displeasure, but kept on with her pace. The bird muttered something about a canine in the distance. Ithiel rewarded him, and with that, he was off and into the air again. The dusky coyote picked his horse up into a slow trot, and the big liver chestnut stomped her way across the dusty earth in the direction of the figure. Pale and striking against the gray-brown landscape, Ithiel saw her a good distance off, and began to slow his horse. There was no sense charging her -- she was alone, else Zedekiah would have warned of lurking friends.
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