Haunted Wood i am the quiet &

the witching hour is nigh as kvasir steps into the haunted wood. sugarspun moonbeams filter down through cracks in thick canopy of the old, gnarled oak trees; defiant. or lucky. the leaves have begun to turn and in some cases the limbs have begun to become skeletal. nothing overly noticeable yet, lest one was looking but soon the trees would be bare. he weaves ‘round the large gnarled trunks, moving swiftly thru the fog that writhes upon the forest floor like a living entity. for a moment it rises upon a soft breath that stirs the dead leaves at his paws; a soft sigh from the forest the viper prowls.

kvasir continues forth, towards the heart of the territory, unperturbed by the hair raising wails and yips of vulpine nature, mixing with the highpitched brays of the deer that have made this place home as he moves. the time in the hourglass was rapidly receding to the bottom half and soon dawn would break the horizon. he hopes to have found a place to shelter and sleep away the day, preferring to travel in the throes of night when the air is ( sometimes ) cooler.