Neverwinter Forest skies and thrones and wings and poetry and things

From even the slightest elevation that the nurse log provided, Ira had a better view of the forest. It was thick, the trees here were wider and taller than most he'd ever seen before, and yet down here, it was surprisingly open. Underbrush did not thrive under trees with branches as thick as these, but neither was it completely sparse. It was a rainforest so unique and old that he felt cradled by the Earth. The sense of comfort did well to balance out the sense of anxiety that encapsulated him at present. He wrested it from his mind as best he could, turning on his feet so that he could continue to look around him, and felt a jolt in his stomach.

There was something – or someone – nearby. With no leaves and very few sticks to trample on down here to alert him of anyone moving about, it occurred to him that he may not have been alone for some time. But the rustle of ferns was not a breeze, for he felt none, and he ducked his shoulders, bending at the elbows, to get lower against the log. He was not so foolhardy as to call out to a stranger in a place already so strange and foreign to him, but neither could he tell if the sound were made by predator or prey. The anxiety in him melted away as he shifted into preparedness mode, his entire body changing into fixed and fiery energy.