Deepwood Weald a shadowy hand turns the page

What had called him back?

“I was close by,” he said with good humor. He did not have a good reply for this and balked, unable to hide it. But it was replaced in favor for what else she had to say and ask, and at least the latter of comments he could supply a good answer to.

“The further north you go, the colder it gets. Weather-wise, anyway. I’ve always had good fortune in going north, but preferred more temperate climates like this. Of course if you go north from here, you’ll hit the coast long before you find the taigas and tundras should you keep along it.” A demure smile followed his trailing words briefly. “But the south of here, you’ll find more of our kin lurking. In the forests, the mountains, along the river… some good natured, others unafraid to find flesh for teeth to sink into.”

The good, the bad, the ugly, the usual.

But he did not doubt that she knew of such things—after all, she had a point in saying that living in the past made the future less enjoyable. And he had worked to try and shed much of his only to discover that some things were inescapable. He was not immune to the folly of sentiment, though he had hoped he would be.

“But I all suppose it depends on what you hope to find,” he went on, “so what are you hoping to find?”