Deepwood Weald i love to watch the castles burn, these golden ashes turn to dirt

She seemed set on testing the idea, at least for a moment, and it humored him. Getting lost was not for the faint of heart in theory and he liked to think for the better of them, they could manage just fine. Loneliness was more apt to bother them in the end, but thankfully Dirge had never had to deal with true solitude long term.

"A couple of others linger around," he answered, though he did not attest to how true that statement was. "For the most part, my sister and I are the only constants." He had done some ranging, made a show of meager borders, but it hardly covered the breadth of the weald. There was still far too much of the forest for just he and Nyx to manage, but he hoped in time he would have certainty in those he extended his offer to. The rest would come together as it should.

He knew he couldn't easily bend the will of those destined to wander to yield and remain and didn't seek to. Some would simply not want to put in their share of the work to manage and maintain, instead prefering to make their survival easy by modest offerings. But this was no easy endeavor he placed stock into—it would have been easier to curry favor to some nearby bastion for the winter to come, and ensure a low cost life.

But Dirge would not sacrifice his freedoms for it.