Dragoncrest Cliffs orchid breathing

Somewhere in the Greatpine Wildwood where the cliffs overlooked the sea, Sobo lay whittling a stick with his teeth.

It was imprecise work. The early evening sun cast long shadows in the forest, making it difficult to see exactly what he was doing. His teeth notched the wood in a messy fashion. The imprints he made in it were unevenly spaced and sized, nothing like that he had imagined in his head. It was his first time attempting to make markings in wood, to create some sort of totem from the sequoia trees that towered over the coast, and it was turning out much harder than he ever imagined it could be.

Sobo dropped the stick against his upturned ankle to inspect it, then scowled and scoffed. It was a wreck! Not good for anything. He took it again into his teeth and ground down, splintering the stick with several clean, sharp snaps.