Deepwood Weald ambrosial grace

It was raining again, snuffing out the sunlight of early morning. Rolling fog had come down from mountains to meet the mist along the outskirts of the weald, and it was there that Dirge moved along as quietly as he could manage. With @Nyx keen to roam a bit, he had been the one to linger now instead, weaving among the ferns of damp trees. No one had ventured through where he thought to cordon off a parcel of the woodland, which made this round of patrolling a mockery. It was boring, but perhaps for the better.

It even crossed his mind not to bother with marking things, the notion that if no one took notice of he and Nyx then the less trouble there would be, but that was presumptuous; they hardly did anything to draw attention beyond crossing paths with others along whatever grassy or stony path the strode. It set his expression into a grimace as he battled pros and cons of one thought and another; he thought perhaps he would take it up with his fairer haired sibling once she came back around.

Pausing to shake the damp free of his coat, he discarded his thoughts to take study of the northern curve of the woodland. Here nothing seemed too out of place, but then again few things did when even he still learned the lay of the land in depth. With the veil of mist shrouding things, it may as well have seemed a different place altogether and if the clouds and rain lingered then morning in the valley would hold fast to that shroud well into the day. He pressed on again towards the bend of the forest, and sought to lurk in its density once more.

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