Deepwood Weald antisolar rays

The tall, tall trees of these woods were friendless beings. Their thick canopies made it difficult to stick to a waypoint, and their numbers seemed to go on for miles and miles – stretching far beyond what the eye could see.

Frustration was mounting for Long Rain; she had lost her original direction chosen from a vantage point before entering the Deepwood – distracted by a mouse! – and any footpaths through this place would predictably disappear beneath the autumn fronds. She couldn’t even tell how high the sun was, or if it had already begun its descent.

She snuffled through the carpet of ferns, trying to find something that would lead her to the edge of these impossible woods.

Caracal, dead.

It still bounced around inside of his head. Caracal, dead. Caracal was dead.

He didn’t know what to do with that information, so he ruthlessly stifled it. Buried it so deep he would need to excavate to pull it out. Sable, for all of his bluster, was not good at feelings.

The sound of snuffling caught his ear, a quick burst of soft, baby blue darting across his vision. Sable turned his gaze into the forest, narrowing his eyes.

After a moment, he let out a whisper of a bark. Whoever was out here, whoever made the sounds, they could serve as a distraction.