Post by L. Ebron Ruh on Apr 13, 2010 7:55:14 GMT -5
And down they went, deeper, darker, every bend distorted by feeble light making its way through the negative spaces of the knobby, clawing branches. It was so much nicer in the spring, a comfort tickle of scented leaves and dewed earth, life and magic spewing all around you, but spring was gone. Here, now, the crooked wood caught at your face, arms, clothes, the path packed hard, ungiving. Behind Devan cursed, huffing as he swiped at the branches clinging from his cape with a loud snap. He muttered something incoherent as Kote smiled thinly.
“Don’t provoke them.”
The man picking at his cape paused, eyeing the back of the red haired man who simply continued walking on, what he said ringing in the man’s ear under the pressed silence as he wondered if he actually said anything. Cautiously he continued, shuffling after the man, whose hair was bright and young, grew darker the further they walked. Eventually Kote stopped and Devan looked over his shoulder carefully to see they have reached a dead end, a stone pillar in front of the twisted trees scratched with aged symbols seeming to twist and writher in half shadow. Barely suppressing a shiver he looked at Kote, rubbing an iron wheel stringed to a cord around his neck in his aged hand.
“What now?” He barely whispered, his voice flat in the air, his chest heavy, “We’re not going to have to cut through this are we?” He grimaced.
(I don't doubt I won't finish this, but since it's so quite here, thought I'd bring a little noise.)
“Don’t provoke them.”
The man picking at his cape paused, eyeing the back of the red haired man who simply continued walking on, what he said ringing in the man’s ear under the pressed silence as he wondered if he actually said anything. Cautiously he continued, shuffling after the man, whose hair was bright and young, grew darker the further they walked. Eventually Kote stopped and Devan looked over his shoulder carefully to see they have reached a dead end, a stone pillar in front of the twisted trees scratched with aged symbols seeming to twist and writher in half shadow. Barely suppressing a shiver he looked at Kote, rubbing an iron wheel stringed to a cord around his neck in his aged hand.
“What now?” He barely whispered, his voice flat in the air, his chest heavy, “We’re not going to have to cut through this are we?” He grimaced.
(I don't doubt I won't finish this, but since it's so quite here, thought I'd bring a little noise.)
