Shadowwyn Moor Where Oh Where, Art Thou

After taking his leave from the hollow, Alexander trekked directly south. He planned on going in a large arch around Easthollow so that he could lower his risk of running into anyone from there—he had nothing against them, he just wasn’t yet ready to meet with any of them again. It would work, he figured, he’d just travel south through the moor and then take a sharp turn west—he’d be back home at the valley in no time at all. Although, maneuvering through the terrain wasn’t exactly preferred, the many corpses of trees strewn all around hidden beneath mounds of snow, creating plenty of opportunities for one to trip over them. A few times already he’d stumbled, having caught himself from falling flat by mere strokes of luck; he’d since grown considerably irritated, ready to be back in the valley where the land did not try to send him flying.

He’d lost track of how long he’d been walking for when a voice caught his attention, laced with fear and sorrow that acted as the perfect bait for the albino. He was curious—morbidly so—to discover what troubled her, and so he watched once she was within his line of sight for a good, long while before saying anything. And when he finally did speak, it was from afar, voice raised and words carried forth by the wind.

“Why are you yelling?” he asked. “If no one has responded to you by now, then they’re probably long gone.” In his experience, that was how things worked. One day you’d wake up and they’d just be gone, too far for any voices to reach them—it sucked but it was life.