Prince Rowan of Calemerdon sat in his dining hall sifting through the piles of venison, fruits and salads gathered from the past Fall season's harvest. His lips curled into a dissatisfied frown as he poked his fork into the medium cooked meat. The venison steak before him seemed tougher than the meat typically was. It was almost as if the living animal before lived excessively malnourished. Such a state wasn’t typical in the realm. His father’s power should have kept the woodlands ripe and full of food for all who lived there.
“What is the meaning of this? Why does the quality of our food wane so?” Rowan asked, troubled.
To one side of him sat Lord Gloren of the Eastern Woods, caretaker of the part of Rowan's kingdom he currently resided in. His hair was also long, but silver instead of gold with a pair of green eyes known to pierce the depths of a person’s soul. The lord clothed himself typically in neat, spotless browns and reds and very little je