Deepwood Weald autré temps

The wind shifted as he lazed about, the boughs overhead creaking as the height of the day began to roll towards its imevitable close. For the most part things remained quiet in his little timberland, not that he had ever anticipated much clamor to be raised for loitering in the dense wood. @Nyx was without a doubt off on some other avenue of exploration, though as always she never strayed too far; nightfall would more than likely draw them to their usual rendezvous point.

Though the inclination to meander had mounted quite the assault earlier in the day, he had been content to gnaw at sticks and reeds in the misty wood, ever deliberating what move to make next, or to ponder how best to rally others to his fledgling cause. There had been those curious enough to come around, perhaps linger for a spell, but whether or not they remained and offered their loyalty was another effort entirely. He couldn't begrudge them—summer was long yet, the world wide open to venture. But so long as the weald benefited he and his sister, he would linger.

Leaving meant losing touch with Hydra again too, and he did not quite entertain that thought with anything other than disdain. No, he had reasoned as he moved along a lesser trail, leaving forfeited the opportunities therein ever dangled out of his reach. Whatever exactly they were, whatever he hoped to gain, well, all of those things were another affair for another day. Entertainment for the night to come when dreams consumed him through fitful rest, where perhaps a healthy imagination could fill in blanks better left off stage.

As it were, his gilded gaze lighted on another where the timber began to grow sparse and dwindle, and this one may have been the most surefooted yet. She wove easily against the backdrop of fern and hardwood, her steps far more calculated than others of late. And so he followed at some length behind, curious whether the timber would devour her with its depths and mist or if she would navigate it in the way he and Nyx had, a careful precision afforded by those as confident as they were seasoned pathfinders. He did not mask his study of her, nor try to conceal that he fell into trailing her with all the laze lent to a young man of poorly thought out decisions; it was a curious venture—a risk if she thought so poorly and turned to set her teeth to unmarred flesh.