Haunted Wood there is no god

it is mid-morning when tursas steps into the blissful shadows of the haunted wood; the darkness of the woodland reaching out to welcome him like a eager lover. though the heat has not reached it's peak yet, he knows it is coming from the touch of the sun upon his feverkissed coat's back. he is eager to escape it before it settles into the tendrils of his fur. he is not used to his oppressive heat, thick and cloying. these lands are more green then tursas is used to seeing and in this he feels far from his home of stone and ice and sea.

still, he follows the smells of multiple woodland critters towards the heart of the wood; golden gaze searching for a place to rest his travel weary paws for a bit.