The Bracken Woods tell me about how you burned rome to the ground

as vormekta traveled, straying further and further away from the territory of his birth, the lands ceased to smell familiar. it was how the stalker kept track, not caring to look for identifiable landmarks. not when he did not intend to stay. when he reached what he assumes had been tuskbone spire's horizon, only did his steps steady with purpose slow.

he suspected his travels was not done, at least, not within these new wilds; but he no longer moved with the sole purpose of traveling through.

hoarfrost gaze takes in the mixture of towering trees, the harsh scent of pine and the scrape of thorny bushes slashing at his legs as he brushed past. the sting eventually forces him to stop, a low grumble of annoyance lingering in his throat. gaze lifts from the shallow thorn cuts to peer over the foliage, trying to deduce if there was a better path than the one he currently took or if he was best just to keep pushing through until he cleared the woods.