Deepwood Weald Ice cold heart with a frozen mind

Time; 4:00pm | Weather; 41F (5C) | Rye is still partially recovering from a wound infection.

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The crunch of fresh snow blessed Ryes' ears as he maneuvered
his way through the virtually impenetrable forest. Weaving in
and out of the trees, bushes and hatchlings that peppered the
forest floor with great abundance. The health of the forest on
full display with its mighty tall trees and its thriving
ecosystem of tiny critters hopping from branch to branch, 

their cheeks full of nuts, berries and various herbs. The 

evening sun silhouetted the squirrels every move, their colors 

a hidden secret behind the lights trickery. He could only guess 
their gazes aim from their lack of movement, he was confident
they watched him like owls stalking their prey in the dead of
night. Fat and numerous, they would all make adequate meals
for the days journey. Alas they were experienced foragers,
knowing better than to trust a strange or perhaps familiar 
creature. One day mother nature will come to claim them but
today was not their day, off they went to claim more roughage.
.

It was time for a break, his shoulder was beginning to bother 

him. Rye was praying for no lasting damage, the fur on his 

wound had yet to even peak out from under the skin. If that 

was the lasting damage Rye would have no qualms with it, 

however he feared it was more than just hair loss. A small 

limp accompanied him with each step, not painful, only sore.

As if he merely pulled a muscle but anxieties never rested, so

his worries would continue to plague him like bees in the 

summer heat. As Rye began searching for a good spot to rest 

he spotted a large tree, unlike the others surrounding it. Its

roots protruded up from the ground and skimmed the forest 

floor like ivy. They were thick and calloused from its 

presumably decades of exposure. Dead vines were wrapped

around each root, once leeching off the mammoth trees' 

success. Not more than an inch of snow dusted the floor 

directly below the sprawling branches and large stalks of 

the tree. It was a safe haven from snow and no doubt the

 sun in summer. Perfect for Rye to rest by. 

.

The male gathered what little dead, dry leaves there were

from the ground and formed them into a small mountain. He

rested his bad shoulder on the leaves, sighing in relief as the 

built up pressure was released. Once his body recovered, he

would continue moving aimlessly east. Bound by no pack and 

no one, he was free to roam lands not yet seen by his eyes. 

So far the beauty of Teekon was shining. It was peaceful.