3rd of Spring, 510 A.V.
Eshatoh had finally found his way to the Sea of Grass proper. For as far as he could see, green carpeted the ground, broken only by thin trickles of blue that had to be water. Water! How amazing was that? It was just sitting there-- not being used for drinking by people or even animals. For a moment he couldn't breathe.
The moment passed.
And he set out, enjoying the feel of the grass gently caressing his feet and making his way towards one of the rivulets. He soon learned that the grass wasn't actually that gentle. In fact, even to feet with years of built up callouses from walking barefoot, the grass still caused lacerations.
Before long he was moving with his head down, blood streaming from his feet, awkwardly hopping from patch to patch of bare ground. All of this meant that when Eshatoh had absolutely no clue what was dive-bombing at him out of the sky.
Turns out grass cuts weren't the only nasty thing in the plains. Before Eshatoh knew what had quite literally hit him, there was a black weasel-like creature clinging to the back of his head, he was facedown on the ground, and blood was spurting from wounds the thing had created and, in fact, was still creating. Because of this realization, Eshatoh was quick to swat at the back of his head. For his trouble, all he managed to do was hit his own head and become unconscious, albeit only for a few seconds.
When he came to, Eshatoh staggered to his feet. Water wasn't going to come to him, and help seemed as unlikely here as it did in the desert. So he started walking onwards, still half-dazed, leaving a trail of blood behind him.