It was early in the day, and the swift, calm rustle of hardened scales against soft grass echoed through the hills. Zakk was trudging up and over the wavy landscape, his great body calmly passing through the stoic trees and green bushes. Surprisingly, he wasn't traveling toward any particular destination, no, he was only driving himself away from where he had been.


He had lingered a long while in a quiet valley, but like the creeping of growing moss, that great need within him had started to increase, unseen but deeply felt; that pressing demand that it was time to leave where he had grown so comfortable, and move on.



He was a nomad, venturing from place to place, not driven by the thrill of adventure, but by the solemn realization that nothing lasts forever, and that the only thing constant is change.



And so the great wyrm slithered on, both broken-hearted to leave behind what was, but filled with hope about what was to be. And he was making good progress, it was early in the day, after all.