Shadewood you are at war, even in your dreams

Tall elms and oaks tower overhead as Nero makes his way from the fringes of the territory (and thus the very edges of the Teekon Wilds) towards the Shadewood’s heart. It is easy to convince himself that he left Mount Pompeii because he is enticed by his father’s story of the lands he was born to though for his own grievances could not stay to build his legacy but Nero knew it would be a lie. Not an entire lie but enough of one that to utter it as a feeble reassurance would be to speak a not truth. The truth was that he could not bear to watch the gradual decline of Manakin’s health — the smallest and weakest; the most prone to illness and injury in his fragility. He was dying and Nero …Nero was a coward that could not bear the weight that watching him waste away was placing upon his heart. He turns from parents, from siblings, from lovers and one night ventures out without word and seeks never to return. Let them brand him a traitor. The fact that Manakin had lived as long as he had was miracle enough but Nero thinks that perhaps, by now, the runt of his litter would have given up the fight and died.

The weight of guilt is unfavorable but this, at least, Nero knew would pass. Like the ache of a bruise beneath the skin it would fade until no evidence lingered. He’d considered staying and along that vein he’d considered putting Manakin out of his misery. That, as the eldest he would take into his jaws what none other could do and see the sickly boy’s life ended. The guilt from that Nero suspects would have never seen an end.

He turns thought from the past he leaves behind him and instead to the future and what these Wilds may hold for him. The shade the woodland offers is a cool respite from the hot, midday sun and the vespertine’s pace slows to enjoy the reprieve and relish in the succor the Shadewood offers. He inhales deeply, the spice of the woodlands, musk of trees and the rich scent of dampened earth flood his black, leathery nostrils. It is a small comfort, he thinks but one that he delights in. Nero stops as he comes to a small pond and bows his head to sate his thirst, tongue lapping greedily at the water as he drinks deeply from the body of water.