Neverwinter Forest amazonia

That agitated feeling only grew as time wore on, and as Willow's path diverged from the forest and brought him descending in to a valley, he came to recognize what it was: an aspect inherent to his body that he had thoroughly rejected in previous years. The heat clung to him as he journeyed; whether it was from the midday sun beating down upon him from on high or, as he suspected, rooted in the hungry womb he wished he could ignore — it was there, a persistent pestilence.
The nearness of the shadows soothed some part of Willow's psyche as he found his way to them, seeking out the dark of the Neverwinter Woods (although he did not know the name, yet). Being hidden felt right. He wished it wasn't necessary. He wished he had been built the right way from the get-go, so that this did not surprise him in such a way.
In previous years Willow had found herbs to take, or sequestered himself as anyone unwilling to be a parent might hide away. It was grating on his ego — he knew of no other men who hid from the season — and yet it was a necessity. It felt as though his body was rebelling against him! It was, in its own way, and the betrayal he felt was acute and demeaning.