The Heartwood Stillness

Backdated a few days, not that it particularly matters to me at least. :P

The dead forest was even more of an empty void in the winter.  The trees were even less lively, saplings were barren twigs, easily toppled.  It wasn't fresh, that much was clear as Treason's nostrils flared.  There wasn't that acrid smokey smell, but more just damp and rot.  Fungi were probably eagerly awaiting more hospitable temperatures to eat the remaining trunks.  It was monochrome, essentially petrified, lost in time.

As far as she could tell, she was the only thing moving, and even that might be hard to spot -- she was the same colors of the snow-addled landscape, and under the noontime light the shadows were minimal.  She didn't have a particular destination in mind, but had been weaving her way across the lands for some time now.  She'd need a place to stop at some point, but figured this was probably not the place to do so.  Instead it was its own little mystery.  It was a tree's graveyard, Treason was just a passing ghost.