Calico Grove, just one please.
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Hawthorn road steadily, a gallop that was faster then the normal canter that was ask of him during most of the pair's travels. Alder pushed the large horse, giving the encouragement in low-speech and the commands through the heal of his foot-paw. New fall-air whipped passed them, picking up the shaggy short furs of his main and the long stands of matching black hair that belonged to the horse.
Early morning, his favorite time to ride, brought little relief for the male that had been so troubled since his argument with Trent. He woke with the same frustration that he had bedded, and it was verging on something quite aggravating. Alder was not one to be heated, and such a thing had only happened once before in his lifetime. Trent had shown his face in the stables and from that moment forward he had prodded at Alder's emotions. He had not thought the coyote hybrid to be so bold, only having met him while he was weak and new to the pack, but Alder's first impressions of him had to have been wrong.
Urging Hawthorn further the pair traveled deep into the lands of the Court, the King's Woods if it were to be given a name Alder supposed. The lands in which the pack took it's prey, but the male had no desire for hunting. Hawthorn slowed as they entered the wood, a forest the place for uneven ground with thick brush and surprising roots. Though the rider did not urge him faster, he was aggravated by the slow and common pace. To ease his tension he looked through the trees, watching for anything that might surprise the two beasts.
Perhaps he would encounter a stranger, or better yet a trespasser that needed to be told to leave the world of Cour des Miracles less they wished to be trampled by the shire horse. The thought passed through his mind, and he was not left with an eager satisfaction but a even darker gloom. The masked male was not that sort of creature, and he was unnerved at the sheer thought let alone the image he imagined. The forest thinned at one point, and then he saw the grove. Thick with trees, the undergrowth was nil and the shade of the sun almost stark and cold. he entered it, his thoughts driven by the need to direct 'Thorn through the less narrow pathways between the dense trees.