Escutcheon, walked on for what felt like an eternity. As the sun's beams bore down on him. He felt like he was at on the edge of the world. That there was nothing left that only the grassy prairie would just go on forever and ever. He looked behind him he could no longer see the grove he had slept in earlier that day. Behind him was only grass and the occasional tree. In front of him was only grass, to the right and left only grass, with the flatness of the earth being breached only once or twice by the trees that rose from the dirt. There was no end in sight. The was no end to the prairie. If he had anymore tears to shed he had shed them at the tree line of the last grove. Where any delusions of getting home where left behind.
And yet here he was still on his hooves some voice in his head telling him that all he had to do was get to the end of this prairie and he'd see the tail tale signs of home. And all he had to do was keep moving and keep believing. And despite the fact that he no longer believed that strange voice still compelled him to move, and so he did. With his eyes set on the sun which set before him he continued heading west.