Blackfeather Woods Amun

The woods were shaded and cool in the first touches of autumn. Bayek felt his skin prick with goosebumps. He had never known such a drastic shifting in seasons. The desert of his home was warm, hot during the summers, only cooling enough to frost the ground in the deep winter. The Medjay was used to dry cold, scorching summers, and wild brush. 

The forest appealed to him. He admired the shadows as he passed. The earthy hues of his coat blending him into the backdrop. Bayek’s eyes were sharp as he watched the trees shift, some moaning with the swaying brought on by a rush of wind. Leaves spiraled to the ground. Bayek passed over them, sniffing at the air.