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Foxglove had followed another trail of petals, these a deeper red but no less fragrant - it was almost like being under the spell of a siren. He felt compelled to move further along the trail, to follow the swirl of the petals and see just where they took him. He was confused for a moment at the salty air, it cut through the fragrant scent of the beautiful boughs from the trees. He'd only encountered such a thing once before, when the world had seemed to swallow him up and spit him out so far from the Glade and his home. This felt different, though - something that he hadn't encountered in this world before. Surely Mythris had a plethora of lovely beaches, but as Foxglove's toes sank into the sand he found the sensation to be less than delightful.

There was also the strange sound that it made every step he took, but he did have to admit that the view of the sea before him was stunning.

He was caught off guard when another wolf went barreling straight into the waters - not in fear, not in panic, but in true joy. It was clear to see the way that it had affected the other wolf, and Foxglove couldn't bring himself to join him or to judge. He stood far from where the water lapped so serenely against the sands, keen green gaze taking in the view before him. With all of the strife that Avon had faced in the past season, it almost felt otherworldly to see someone else so carefree.

At least someone had found happiness - Foxglove could appreciate that even if it wasn't him.

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