Deepwood Weald the scavenger feeds in hum of low sea

His idling turned up no answers, but there were really none to be found there to begin with. An echo of failure, perhaps, one markedly of many if he had to wager. Andraste tried to settle here, as had he another time before. Yet the weald turned them both away if the state of it had anything at all to say, which it did not. Whatever secrets it held, it had kept, but it did not diminish what allure it still held.

Knowing he could not go any further, he turned inward towards once familiar, reaching woods. The air was heavy, damp, and within fog lurked where more temperate climes settled. He had no idea now how long it had been since Andraste had abandoned the site, but there was comfort in knowing he could come and go from the weald as he pleased.

And towards her, he had turned unknowingly.

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