The Tangle the earth is littered with the ruins

scarab stays clear of the thick of spiny shrubs that grow around and between the trunks of the witchtrees like sinister sentries, not wanting the needle sharp points to neither tangle in his pelage nor splice his flesh. a shadow within the thicket of the tangle moves then with slow footfalls taking a distinctly canine shape accompanying with a question that strikes scarab as a bit condescending. he wasn't far from home at all. the borders were but a few feet away — still in his sights — which makes scarab wonder if their protective veil shrouded over him even out here beyond their immediate reach.

no. while his reply might've sounded imperious it was also curtly honest. youth granted him the illusion of immortality and at her words he lets out a low snort. dangers lurk everywhere. he tells her flippantly; proposing a wisdom beyond his age though truth was he said it because it sounded like a grown-up thing to say.