Tormented Tarns you got time to reconcile with your fear

Even with the first real successful snow, the tarns were still a muddy mess. Dirge couldn't remember the last time he had been here on his own and frankly, he would not have been surprised if the answer was that he had never been here alone at all. Truth be told, the first and last time he had come to the watered down mudhole of a forest had been well into his journey to the wilderness, though far from a simpler time. Long before Saor and Nyx had gone their separate ways from him; the memory welcomed itself in the moment he had a vague sense of where he was.

Above him, the divide of regions rose proud and tall. Towering spires were glittery in the early morning, the world quiet as he progressed and forged his own path over and through the snow. The chill that lingered here seemed bold in spite of the sparse snowfall, but it was a stark sign that the season would be swiftly changing. Another year set to end, though to him it wouldn't have been the start of another until the snow melted. Why on earth he was out here of all places knowing such was another story altogether—he shouldn't have been.

Stubborn as ever, an attribute that was hard to say which lineage it descended from, he persisted in the cold when wiser creatures would turn to safety and the long term; to settle and wait for better weather. He just needed to clear his head, so absconding to elsewhere and getting caught out in the light snow that blanketed the earth gently as much as it did his coat seemed logical. The skies hadn't cleared entirely either; he was bound to be in for more within the hour.

He wondered, briefly, if abandoning the weald had been a wise decision.

word count: 310

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