The newly-expanded, "Benny's Adventure Team" was not one to rest on its laurels. Their triumphant, treasure-filled first expedition had only whetted their appetite for more. The very next morning, they assembled once more at the city gates, their destination the wild, untamed forests to the west: Wolvendom.
The journey was a peaceful, scenic trek. They passed through the idyllic, windmill-dotted village of Springvale, its houses nestled into the gentle, green hills. Ren, of course, paused to take a series of beautiful photographs, capturing the rustic, peaceful charm of the small, sleepy town.
From a high ridge, they got their first, breathtaking, far-shot of Dragonspine. The great, snow-capped mountain loomed on the southern horizon, a silent, majestic, and intimidating, giant.
"Behold, the frozen fang of the world!" Fischl declared, her voice a dramatic, and slightly chilly, pronouncement. "A realm of eternal frost, where the very bones of the earth are locked in a silent, icy slumber! We cannot venture there now," she added, her tone shifting to one of pragmatic, and slightly disappointed, caution, "not without the proper, cold-warding equipment."
"She's right," Bennett agreed, shivering slightly, despite the warm, sunny day. "I went there once. Nearly froze my nose off. And I think a falling icicle tried to steal my lunch."
Their path then took them past a grand, elegant, and very famous, estate. The Dawn Winery, with its sprawling vineyards and its stately, beautiful manor house, was a picture of old-world, Mondstadt nobility. Ren, from a respectful distance, took a few, artful photographs of the iconic landmark, a quiet, personal tribute to its famously grim, and surprisingly heroic, owner.
Finally, they entered the deep, shadowed, and slightly mysterious, woods of Wolvendom. The air here was cooler, older, filled with the scent of pine and damp earth. The cheerful, open sunlight of the plains was replaced by a dappled, green-tinged light that filtered through the thick canopy of the ancient trees.
They had not been walking for long when a new figure emerged from the woods, moving with a silent, feral grace. It was a young man with long, wild, gray hair, his eyes a sharp, intelligent, and very lupine, shade of crimson. A massive, jagged claymore was strapped to his back. It was Razor.
He was not alone. A small, friendly pack of wolves trotted at his heels, their gazes curious, but not threatening.
"Friends," Razor said, his voice a low, gravelly, and slightly unpracticed, sound. "You are friends of the red, burny girl." He was, of course, referring to Klee.
Klee, who was clearly a frequent, and very welcome, visitor to these woods, let out a happy squeal. "Razor! We came to say hi!"
Razor gave a slow, quiet nod. He then turned, and with a simple, almost imperceptible, gesture, his wolf companions all bounded off into the woods.
A few minutes later, they returned, their mouths full of a bounty of freshly-picked, and very delicious-looking, fruits. They had wolfhooks, sunsettias, even a few, rare, and very sweet, Valberries.
"For you," Razor said, presenting the offering with a simple, quiet dignity.
And so, in a small, sunlit clearing in the heart of the ancient, wolf-prowled woods, the strangest, most wonderful, and most heavily-armed, picnic in the history of Mondstadt took place. They ate the fresh, sweet fruit, they shared stories, and Razor, in his quiet, simple way, told them of the ways of the wolves, of the scent of the wind, of the language of the forest.
When they were finished, Ren, feeling a new, brave, and slightly insane, idea spark in his mind, looked at the quiet, wolf-raised boy. "Razor," he began, his tone one of polite, respectful, and slightly nervous, hope, "do you think… do you think we could maybe meet him? The big one?"
Razor's crimson eyes widened slightly in surprise, and then gave, a slow nod. He took them to the main arena, a large circular place with motiffs
A few moments later, the very air seemed to grow cold, and a vast, majestic, and utterly, breathtakingly, powerful, presence made itself known. A colossal, spectral wolf, its form a swirling, beautiful storm of Anemo and Cryo energy, materialized in the clearing. Its eyes, ancient and wise, glowed with a pale, icy light. It was Lupus Boreas, Andrius, the Great Wolf of the North, one of the Four Winds of Mondstadt.
Bennett and Fischl both took a respectful step back. Klee just waved happily. And Ren, his heart pounding a rhythm of pure, unadulterated awe, first asked for permission, and then set up his kamera.
The resulting group photo was a masterpiece, a picture so surreal, so epic, and so utterly wonderful, that it was destined to become a legend. It showed the small, eclectic, and very brave, group of adventurers, smiling, in front of the vast, majestic, and surprisingly, very patient, and very photogenic, spirit of the Great Wolf of the North.
Later, as a final, special treat, Razor, who was clearly now a firm, and very loyal, member of this strange, new pack, led them on a secret, winding path. It took them to a high, windswept cliff at the very edge of his domain. From there, they had a perfect, and slightly terrifying, view of the massive structure that was Stormterror's Lair.
Ren, his heart full of the day's wild and wonderful adventure, took one, final, dramatic picture, capturing the raw, beautiful, and untamed, power of the lair of the dragon he had once helped protect the city against. The chronicle of his Mondstadt adventure was slowly getting captured in his book, one photo at a time.