Daithí hopped along the small mounds on the grounds. They were like roots, he thought, roots to the foothills. The plains were flat and boring compared to the diverse, rocky territory here and the thick grass often prevented Daithí from moving as quickly as he preferred--he was much better suited to his native mountainous terrain. Besides, in the open he would meet others, and they would ridicule him for his horns. At least here he had plenty of room to breath--and what a fresh breath did he inhale!
Stopping in the shade of a wimpy-looking tree to catch his breath, Daithí examined his surroundings. He had never been this war west, though he forgot why he usually turned back before now. He was glad he didn't though, because this place left him with a calm, serene feeling in his heart and mind. Lulled by the chirping of the birds and the squirrels, Daithí drifted into a half-sleep, murmuring of the fantastic adventures he dreamed he had in this territory. Butterflies had lead him here, he remembered; very pretty, very yellow butterflies. In his imaginings, the yellow butterflies led him deeper into the unknown and then, quite predictably, melted into butter. Daithí yawned: even dreaming seemed tiring to this industrious young Saigh on as hot a day as this. Lids still heavy, the cub looked about the view, hoping to find something interesting to keep him awake as he watched.
maybe some butterflies would melt; he didn't know their melting point but it couldn't be far from the boiling current temperature.
~.:.Plains of Saighneain.:.~ The Guild
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