Deepwood Weald i looked away

the eldritch light that blossomed like pale fire between the thin trees delighted buffalo. he took some dark pleasure practicing his materialization from the glow; one moment hidden, the next in full bloodstained view. chortling to himself, for buffalo was not a man who knew the meaning of loneliness unless it pertained to byll, the self-named king paced through the spindly forest.
"mm, lookit, lookit," he muttered to no one in particular, digging at the base of a flat stone until he'd uncovered pale bulbs in the cold earth. "jonquille." daffodils, of course, and dangerous to consume, but holding medicinal properties all the same. the madman lifted the pair of round things from their grave and carried them gingerly in his mouth through the weald, with no particular destination in mind.