Deepwood Weald Follow the path we light.

In his haste to return home, and with his mind addled by the strange conversation playing out on repeat as he traveled, Firefly didn't pay as much attention to his surroundings as he ought to have. It wouldn't matter too much — the forest that rose up hadn't altered too drastically in the days since he'd carefully plotted his way through it. There were still scents of wolf everywhere and it set his fur to bristling; but the scents weren't as strong as he passed through the heart of it. The weald was a twisted mess of fire-gutted debris but if he looked closely there was new growth all over, some saplings even taking root nearby their fallen antecedents and using their bodies for nutrients. He didn't pay much attention to the trees, in all honesty — he wanted to get through to the coast as fast as he could, consequences be damned.