Deepwood Weald a shadowy hand turns the page

They shared a sentiment without knowing it—the essence of a transient feeling. Moonspear had certainly become his home but in a sense Dirge did not think of it entirely as home. The word had never had much of a feeling associated with it, truth be told. He had never been in the business of finding home; the world was a very vast place and once upon a time, he had been keen to explore it and discover all of its secrets that it would share.

But time had changed everything. Meeting Hydra had changed everything.

“Perhaps,” he rejoined, “but I’d like to think I found a greater treasure to hold.”

He wasn’t much for philosophy either, certainly not a student nor a practitioner of such. Yet the statement was almost probing in his thoughts though perhaps the intention was not truly there. It had been a while since he had just a simple conversation, even longer since a simple conversation found itself brushing against what were still a set of surprisingly sensitive topics that he had been holding close to his chest for far longer than he had ought.

“Is that what you miss? An imaginary place from another life ago? I must admit while your beauty compliments the scenery, it is a bit telling that you’re not from these parts any more than I.” He did his best to seem charming without being too much of a lech, but it was a subtle test of waters all the same. What kind of a creature was she, really? She was young, younger than he by a safe amount, and yet they seemed to hold the same reservations in body language.

He wondered what her tale was. Then conversationally, he continued: “Though I suppose at this point, I could pass for a local all bred and born for this wilderness.” Tit for tat, he gave out more morsels like a man throwing seed to birds to see what bit.