Deepwood Weald a shadowy hand turns the page

It had been a long time since he had ventured far enough to the north to visit the weald. Truth be told, he hadn’t quite intended to go so far from the mountain, but an energized bout of scouting had let time and distance get away from him. Dusk was setting in fast as it was prone to doing so late in the year—he should have been turning back, heading for the familiarity and safety of the mountain… and yet…

The depths of the wood called to him as they had once before. There was familiarity here, something that reminded him of a time when things were significantly easier, at least for him. Though relative ease was certainly apart of his life now, he knew better than to grow complacent with things. Quiet was not the same as safe and loosed to the wilderness did not add that element either. Yet in spite of his rather stationary position in the present, he had needed to stretch his legs a little.

Winter would be upon them soon and it would effectively curb his wandering until the spring, and winter meant preparations to be done. Herds to track, trails to follow, neighbors to keep a wary eye of on the off chance they opted to get a little testy with the shifting season; had it not been an instinctive thing to do, the tasks at hand would have felt a bit nauseating to say the least.

Yet as he delved into the woodland, dipping just past its outskirts to be swallowed whole, he forgot about those things. Would Nyx ever visit here with him? The place held memories of a slightly more ambitious time for him, but for her it was another story altogether. Keres he knew he could drag along and perhaps come spring, he would introduce his youngest to the thick timber and growth. Perhaps he would abscond for a day with Hydra here, too.

The weald was frequented now—he stopped to hover over old, idle markings.