Deepwood Weald so blissful i press on

The path ahead wound through the forest and soon was thick with overgrowth. The recent rains had been good for it, if the sight of lush ferns and the towering of flowering shrubs were any indication. It seemed promising that there would be plentiful game, but with that promise came the suggestion that it were likely he would not be alone in his quest. It was that awareness and the preparation of hunting that let his gaze alight on a flash of white frittered away in the brush. A chuff sounded just as swift, and his steps slowed to cautious halt to better regard the caller.

Dirge drew himself up to his full height, his nose working to discern if others were about to make way before him; he discerned if perhaps the quarry he sought were already gone but found nothing to suggest such. Moments ticked by as he found the brilliant touch of tundra blue eyes and met those with curiosity and words unspoken—what was he doing there, hiding away in the brush like a bandit? But knowing that he could have been free to go and simply move on, he would wait to see what happened before continuing his quest or abandoning it altogether.