Blackfeather Woods onetwothreeonetwothree

The waltz was the first dance that The Jester had ever known the privilege of learning. Even during those times when his mind became cloudy and everything around him seemed like a blur, he always knew that he could depend on the waltz. One, two-three, one, two-three, he thought to himself as he stepped sloppily beneath the moonlight. In his mind, he was the pure embodiment of beauty and grace, though in reality, the poor thing looked more like a poisoned puppy struggling to stay upright.

And yet still, he persisted.

One, two-three, one, two-three...

A thunderous clap disrupted his thinking, and though it was clear that the storm was nowhere near close enough to hurt him, he was still so startled that he soiled himself where he stood. The embarassment was the least of his worries; as far as The Jester knew, he was alone, so all he had to worry about was keeping safe, safe, safe, but what was safe? He was in the open, open, open, which meant that if lightning so pleased it could strike him down at any given moment (how he prayed that moment was not then).

The Jester began to open and close his jaw, finding comfort in the clack sound of his teeth falling together, for it was all he thought he had to keep him grounded.