Shadewood the wood's labyrinth

Qvasir regarded the lanky brown man with a measured calm, his pale gaze steady and unyielding. The question lingered between them, pressing but not forceful. He shook his head once, slowly, a gesture that spoke more than words could carry.

They go to far lands, he said, his tone even, though there was a subtle undercurrent of something deeper—something unspoken. I wanted to stay.

There was no need to explain further. The truth of it settled in the space between them like the weight of the overcast sky. He had made his choice, one rooted in the pull of the earth beneath his paws and the quiet whispers of the trees around him.

Qvasir’s gaze lingered on the man, watching the shift of emotion across his features. A faint, almost imperceptible twitch of his lips could have been the shadow of a smile, but it disappeared as quickly as it came.

These wilds… his voice soft, reflective. Cruel, perhaps. But no crueler than the lands we leave behind. He let the words settle before adding, almost as an afterthought, There’s something to be said for standing still. For seeing what stays.