The Bracken Woods there is nothing fragile about you

the early afternoon is warm; the sun shining in all its brazen glory at its helm in the cloudless sky. it touches upon the disperal's back as he makes his way around the tangled thicket of conifers, deciduous trees and thorny bushes. it makes it seem unwelcome and he's in no mood to suffer the sting of shallow splices of flesh made by the thorns. going 'round the forest no doubt extended his journey ...but what was a few extra hours when he had no actual destination in mind. upon the outskirts of the bracken woods bambam gives pause to take stock of the neutral territories that yawn before him; scenting the air as if the scents that lay upon the whispering breeze might offer some insight of which direction he should take.