Bramblepoint in the deep of the night, near the edge of the know

@Hydra

After singing in the meadow with the maiden of the sky, Wirt ventured South, and followed best he could the path of greatest shelter. With the shortening of the days he found his paws and mind more active, drawn as they were to the hours of the night. He knew soon the snows would come, and days as cold as the dark was now, but not yet. For now, some semblance of life still drank of the earth, and the loamy soil he tread upon still bore the colours of fall.

For the past five minutes Wirt had taken pause in the deep shadows of a vacant woodland he guessed would be teeming in summer months. Thickets scored the soil, naked though they were of the fruits that gave them worth. But his eyes were not for them, and rather for the small white petals of the anemones which kissed the air between the thorns. Brave little flowers, and he brushed his paw against a delicate blossom. “Ah, they tell me that you’re gone,” the petal curved beneath his touch, but did not break. He lingered his touch. “But what do they know?”