Deepwood Weald even the heather's crimson red

The weald had grown quiet over the days. It had taken time for him to notice, the span of the forest far larger than the minute parcel he had taken for himself. But the evidence was hard to miss as he passed through the dense wood, leaving Dirge to wonder if perhaps the cooler weather had driven off those he thought he had rallied to his cause. Granted, it was a causeless cause—he had no end game in sight for how things would be, or how they would come along, just the premise that the willing would follow and the unwilling would see themselves out as they saw fit. It was the same story he offered again and again, to make sure of the forest so long as they needed somewhere to be, and perhaps that was what had become of the few that had lingered.

Yet somehow, it was somewhat disheartening; he hadn't anticipated the return of silence to bother him so. @Nyx was more than likely out on some excursion of her own, provided she wasn't some silent sentinel stalking after him in through foliage, and that left him to his own devices. Free to go wherever he pleased. Instead of the usual confidence and comfort he took in that, he felt a certain malaise toward it; how exhausting to range a bit further than usual when he had stuck so close to the timberland for the last few days.

The days felt shorter somehow, though the difference was a slow decline only measured minutely. He may have still rose when he felt with the morning sun, but his stamina had begun to outlast the daylight. He pressed on past the parcel of forest he had marked off and set out into the deeper reaches of the weald, a habitual trek that had become natural to start his day. It was early still, the faintest chill in the air lingered and mixed with the fog that ran thick through the wood, and he too disappeared into it and the ferns as he made his way.

tags are for visibility; open for anyone.