Chapter 82: 82
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Fangorn fell in love with... an angel?
"Lilyana..?" I whisper tentatively, bringing myself level to Ithuriel with a gradual shift of my body, stealing a moment to let myself lounge in the gloriously warm rays and rejuvenating golden light of the overhead sun, a refreshing experience compared to the icy damp of the forest. From somewhere, a crow screams.
Ithuriel's ears flicker back as he dips his nose downwards in affirmation:
Yes, some two hundred years ago, Fangorn must have come across Lilyana. From the minimal stories that Lilyana used to tell us, their relationship must have lasted many cycles of the moon, though Soren's diary is sparse on the details. Very formal.
Ithuriel shakes the dust off his body and we continue walking, striving through the dense patches of thickets and brambles, an ache forming in my chest- the longing to return to that affable cosiness environed in the sunlight, to linger just a second longer to feel like warmth permeate my skin and provide strength against the seeping cold within my bones. And then another ache forms, a different kind and one that is not so easily sated, laced with want and the remnants of an inescapable lust. I rub my neck tensely.
Ithuriel catches the motion, his body growing rigid with cautioned movements. Whether he continues talking because he wants to, or more simply to keep me distracted from the rising and falling of pure, unadulterated need, I cannot fathom, but let him continue on interrupted anyhow:
I do not think Fangorn, of whatever character he may be, will turn on us. He does not serve Soren anymore, and if anything his allegiance is more closely related with that of Lilyana. By the rules of banishment, after Soren cast Fangorn out, he would have been banished from Sezeria with a death penalty on his head. Considering Soren is the one who cast him out, it would be unwise for a prince to go back on his word- even if he wanted to.
I start to make a reply, but am stopped short by a looming presence that rises out of my periphery. A thick, ominous wall of brambles springs into view, emerging from the unyielding fog that plagues the bounds of the great forest like a serpent rising from the coils of a blustery sea, winding its way past tall redwoods and spruces in a continuous path of destruction and chaos will ill disregard for anything that might be swept into its grips. My unconscious steps stagger to a steadying halt, and I fall into place under the harsh shadows of the trees, at once feeling incredibly small.
"This is the place," I confirm, shoving down my anxiety with one swift gulp, flexing my fingers under the cuffs of my blouse. I inhale a few steadying breathes.
Ithuriel takes a few hesitant steps forward, antenna glowing, sensing and seeking as the hairs on his back bristle with unbridled unease. Numbly, I follow behind him, treading my way confidently despite the fact that few creatures ever dare to approach the borders of the end- not unless they have a death wish- not unless they are me.
Ithuriel stops for a moment and paws at a ringed scorch mark on the ground, undisturbed by the gales that shake this forest when the witching hour has stuck, or the flustered footfalls of an animal escaping its untimely demise. The fox raises his head and gives me a knowing look.
That's your magic. I guess you did a number on Soren that day, huh?
He chuckles to himself, as if amused at the idea, lightening the tense worry swimming in the air around us, and I offer him a sly smile as I try my best to ignore the pang that shoots through my body at the mention of his name.
Perhaps if I hadn't been so rash with Soren last night this would not be a problem, that I wouldn't be burdened with this nagging affliction in the back of my head that scrabbles neverendingly to take control of my body- a parasite in its host.
You know you love it, another part of me whispers beguilingly.
I shake my head clear.
"He didn't even see it coming," I smirk proudly, rubbing my neck before hotly before striding over to the wall of brambles, indicating with a curl of my finger behind me for Ithuriel to follow.
"Last time I got into the end through a break Soren carved out in the brambles. If I am lucky, it will still be here. But there is something wrong with the end. It has some sort of magic repellent, or wards, perhaps? They must be limited, but it stopped Soren from shadowshifting in. Be careful," I inform, and Ithuriel reassures me with a satisfied bark.
Together we trace our way up and down the thorned wall of barbed spikes and death, caught in the gloom of the shadows it casts and painfully aware that every second searching is another second lost. The sun and the light will soon be draining away into the horizons, lost to the moon and the bright twinkling fluorescence of the stars, and the vampires, the creatures who stalk the night with an insatiable desire for blood and lust. I cannot afford to be caught out after nightfall. Not in my state.
I have got it!
Ithuriel calls in my mind at last after what seems to be endless minutes of fruitless searching, drawing me from my trance (one might think finding a gap in a thick void of brambles would be easy, but alas that is not the case). I murmur my thanks to the gods and delve my way past bushes over to Ithuriel, brushing off lose bits of bracken and crumby leaves from the shoulders of my blouse.
It doesn't take long for me to confirm it is, in fact, the very same place.
Bitter memories and panic start to bubble in the back of my throat, leaving an unpleasant taste in its wake. A whirlpool rolls in my stomach, a dull dread that devours my courage and snaps at the strength in my bones, transforming my outer bravery into a pitiful, shaky mess. Sweat trickles a path down the side of my head like a snail trail.
What is Fangorn like I wonder? I think to myself with the nervous intent one usually has when convincing themselves to do something they find themselves rather not wanting to do.
A phantom smell of blood lingers on the edge of my nose, and panic rises further up, spilling into the gorge of my throat.
Yet there is no time to be scared about it.
Hardening my resolve, I plunge into the bramble filled pathway and seal off my fate.
***
I emerge from the thicket of brambles worn, bruised, and not entirely unharmed, breathing heavily and sweating with obvious profuseness at the effort to make it through the narrow wedge of clear ground without acquiring bloody gashes all over my body, yet still upkeeping a sensible manner of time, all too aware of the gradual dipping of the sun from the horizon like a countdown on a clock. My skin is laden with numerous scratches: too shallow to draw blood, yet too deep to be numb to the mind, as though my skin is bristling with a thousand miniature paper cuts that shock pain through my nerves like electrics through a cable.
I bend down, cradling my torn arm, focusing what little energy I have remaining on healing those scratches. My body pulses with an ominous golden glow, one pulse, then another, before my skin sews itself back together, reknitting each fibre after another at such remarkable speed that even a vampire would be jealous, leaving me washed over in a refreshing, dewy parlour, as though I hadn't just strived to walk blindly through a thicket of man-eating brambles.
I arise and stretch out my aching limbs as Ithuriel circles my legs, boasting his unscathed body, fluffy tail brushing up against my calves as he stops short to peer into the darkness of our surrounding, eating away at our line of sight like the maw of some fantastical, deadly beast.
Much worse has been supposed of the end.
Where do you think Fangorn will be in this wasteland? Ithuriel puzzles, exasperation lacing the edges of his voice as he moves to test the darkness, antenna throbbing with a feeble light, extending and retracting in a futile effort to make sense of the pitch black that surrounds us.
I shrug at his question, wiping the light sweat that is beginning to douse the back of my hands on the side of my trousers as I stumble to regain my breath.
"I can't imagine he will be anywhere close to the borders. With a hefty price on his head, if someone did ever wander into the end, I doubt he would make himself the first creature present." I explain, my voice lowered to a fragile whisper, too nervous to raise my voice above even the lowest of pitches for fear of what exactly might be listening.
There are plenty of legends about the creatures who stalk the end: lanky long-limbed monsters who tower as tall as redwoods, picking off creatures at unawares from high up in the trees, swallowing them down and discarding their bones which are so small in comparison that the creature is said to use them as toothpicks. There are hounds that never sleep, hybrid monsters who never saw the sunlight for the shunning of society, and halfling vampires who escaped the vile wrath of Soren's domineering hand when their existence was created by those too foolish to understand what it means to give life.
I shake my head blandly.
In order for life to be given, something must always be taken, no matter what. It is only pitiful that this concept, this vital knowledge has made itself privy to alchemists, angels and witches, is a lesser known principle among the other races. It certainly has caused numerous casualties over the past hundred of years for mal use.
"I suppose the best thing we can do is just look," I decide at last, crestfallen, and not in the least bit keen to go any further into the end than is necessary. Yet the mission demands it, and with inevitable hands of time ticking down my time as a free angel, there is hardly time for me to be scared. My body boils with a nervous energy as I summon a flame in the palm of my hand, weak and puny against the inescapable void of darkness that devourers us, as though dampened and sucked out by some external force into little more than a smidgen of what my powers are capable off. Ithuriel and I share a look of lasting concern.
"I guess we won't be using magic in here if we get into trouble, then," I half joke, straining to lighten the air that is thick with uncertain misgivings and terror that has made itself more and more apparent in the past few minutes alone, growing ever more the deeper we stray into the forest, the wall of brambles sealed off by the shadows behind us until all that is left to do is walk, and push forward.
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Fangorn fell in love with... an angel?
"Lilyana..?" I whisper tentatively, bringing myself level to Ithuriel with a gradual shift of my body, stealing a moment to let myself lounge in the gloriously warm rays and rejuvenating golden light of the overhead sun, a refreshing experience compared to the icy damp of the forest. From somewhere, a crow screams.
Ithuriel's ears flicker back as he dips his nose downwards in affirmation:
Yes, some two hundred years ago, Fangorn must have come across Lilyana. From the minimal stories that Lilyana used to tell us, their relationship must have lasted many cycles of the moon, though Soren's diary is sparse on the details. Very formal.
Ithuriel shakes the dust off his body and we continue walking, striving through the dense patches of thickets and brambles, an ache forming in my chest- the longing to return to that affable cosiness environed in the sunlight, to linger just a second longer to feel like warmth permeate my skin and provide strength against the seeping cold within my bones. And then another ache forms, a different kind and one that is not so easily sated, laced with want and the remnants of an inescapable lust. I rub my neck tensely.
Ithuriel catches the motion, his body growing rigid with cautioned movements. Whether he continues talking because he wants to, or more simply to keep me distracted from the rising and falling of pure, unadulterated need, I cannot fathom, but let him continue on interrupted anyhow:
I do not think Fangorn, of whatever character he may be, will turn on us. He does not serve Soren anymore, and if anything his allegiance is more closely related with that of Lilyana. By the rules of banishment, after Soren cast Fangorn out, he would have been banished from Sezeria with a death penalty on his head. Considering Soren is the one who cast him out, it would be unwise for a prince to go back on his word- even if he wanted to.
I start to make a reply, but am stopped short by a looming presence that rises out of my periphery. A thick, ominous wall of brambles springs into view, emerging from the unyielding fog that plagues the bounds of the great forest like a serpent rising from the coils of a blustery sea, winding its way past tall redwoods and spruces in a continuous path of destruction and chaos will ill disregard for anything that might be swept into its grips. My unconscious steps stagger to a steadying halt, and I fall into place under the harsh shadows of the trees, at once feeling incredibly small.
"This is the place," I confirm, shoving down my anxiety with one swift gulp, flexing my fingers under the cuffs of my blouse. I inhale a few steadying breathes.
Ithuriel takes a few hesitant steps forward, antenna glowing, sensing and seeking as the hairs on his back bristle with unbridled unease. Numbly, I follow behind him, treading my way confidently despite the fact that few creatures ever dare to approach the borders of the end- not unless they have a death wish- not unless they are me.
Ithuriel stops for a moment and paws at a ringed scorch mark on the ground, undisturbed by the gales that shake this forest when the witching hour has stuck, or the flustered footfalls of an animal escaping its untimely demise. The fox raises his head and gives me a knowing look.
That's your magic. I guess you did a number on Soren that day, huh?
He chuckles to himself, as if amused at the idea, lightening the tense worry swimming in the air around us, and I offer him a sly smile as I try my best to ignore the pang that shoots through my body at the mention of his name.
Perhaps if I hadn't been so rash with Soren last night this would not be a problem, that I wouldn't be burdened with this nagging affliction in the back of my head that scrabbles neverendingly to take control of my body- a parasite in its host.
You know you love it, another part of me whispers beguilingly.
I shake my head clear.
"He didn't even see it coming," I smirk proudly, rubbing my neck before hotly before striding over to the wall of brambles, indicating with a curl of my finger behind me for Ithuriel to follow.
"Last time I got into the end through a break Soren carved out in the brambles. If I am lucky, it will still be here. But there is something wrong with the end. It has some sort of magic repellent, or wards, perhaps? They must be limited, but it stopped Soren from shadowshifting in. Be careful," I inform, and Ithuriel reassures me with a satisfied bark.
Together we trace our way up and down the thorned wall of barbed spikes and death, caught in the gloom of the shadows it casts and painfully aware that every second searching is another second lost. The sun and the light will soon be draining away into the horizons, lost to the moon and the bright twinkling fluorescence of the stars, and the vampires, the creatures who stalk the night with an insatiable desire for blood and lust. I cannot afford to be caught out after nightfall. Not in my state.
I have got it!
Ithuriel calls in my mind at last after what seems to be endless minutes of fruitless searching, drawing me from my trance (one might think finding a gap in a thick void of brambles would be easy, but alas that is not the case). I murmur my thanks to the gods and delve my way past bushes over to Ithuriel, brushing off lose bits of bracken and crumby leaves from the shoulders of my blouse.
It doesn't take long for me to confirm it is, in fact, the very same place.
Bitter memories and panic start to bubble in the back of my throat, leaving an unpleasant taste in its wake. A whirlpool rolls in my stomach, a dull dread that devours my courage and snaps at the strength in my bones, transforming my outer bravery into a pitiful, shaky mess. Sweat trickles a path down the side of my head like a snail trail.
What is Fangorn like I wonder? I think to myself with the nervous intent one usually has when convincing themselves to do something they find themselves rather not wanting to do.
A phantom smell of blood lingers on the edge of my nose, and panic rises further up, spilling into the gorge of my throat.
Yet there is no time to be scared about it.
Hardening my resolve, I plunge into the bramble filled pathway and seal off my fate.
***
I emerge from the thicket of brambles worn, bruised, and not entirely unharmed, breathing heavily and sweating with obvious profuseness at the effort to make it through the narrow wedge of clear ground without acquiring bloody gashes all over my body, yet still upkeeping a sensible manner of time, all too aware of the gradual dipping of the sun from the horizon like a countdown on a clock. My skin is laden with numerous scratches: too shallow to draw blood, yet too deep to be numb to the mind, as though my skin is bristling with a thousand miniature paper cuts that shock pain through my nerves like electrics through a cable.
I bend down, cradling my torn arm, focusing what little energy I have remaining on healing those scratches. My body pulses with an ominous golden glow, one pulse, then another, before my skin sews itself back together, reknitting each fibre after another at such remarkable speed that even a vampire would be jealous, leaving me washed over in a refreshing, dewy parlour, as though I hadn't just strived to walk blindly through a thicket of man-eating brambles.
I arise and stretch out my aching limbs as Ithuriel circles my legs, boasting his unscathed body, fluffy tail brushing up against my calves as he stops short to peer into the darkness of our surrounding, eating away at our line of sight like the maw of some fantastical, deadly beast.
Much worse has been supposed of the end.
Where do you think Fangorn will be in this wasteland? Ithuriel puzzles, exasperation lacing the edges of his voice as he moves to test the darkness, antenna throbbing with a feeble light, extending and retracting in a futile effort to make sense of the pitch black that surrounds us.
I shrug at his question, wiping the light sweat that is beginning to douse the back of my hands on the side of my trousers as I stumble to regain my breath.
"I can't imagine he will be anywhere close to the borders. With a hefty price on his head, if someone did ever wander into the end, I doubt he would make himself the first creature present." I explain, my voice lowered to a fragile whisper, too nervous to raise my voice above even the lowest of pitches for fear of what exactly might be listening.
There are plenty of legends about the creatures who stalk the end: lanky long-limbed monsters who tower as tall as redwoods, picking off creatures at unawares from high up in the trees, swallowing them down and discarding their bones which are so small in comparison that the creature is said to use them as toothpicks. There are hounds that never sleep, hybrid monsters who never saw the sunlight for the shunning of society, and halfling vampires who escaped the vile wrath of Soren's domineering hand when their existence was created by those too foolish to understand what it means to give life.
I shake my head blandly.
In order for life to be given, something must always be taken, no matter what. It is only pitiful that this concept, this vital knowledge has made itself privy to alchemists, angels and witches, is a lesser known principle among the other races. It certainly has caused numerous casualties over the past hundred of years for mal use.
"I suppose the best thing we can do is just look," I decide at last, crestfallen, and not in the least bit keen to go any further into the end than is necessary. Yet the mission demands it, and with inevitable hands of time ticking down my time as a free angel, there is hardly time for me to be scared. My body boils with a nervous energy as I summon a flame in the palm of my hand, weak and puny against the inescapable void of darkness that devourers us, as though dampened and sucked out by some external force into little more than a smidgen of what my powers are capable off. Ithuriel and I share a look of lasting concern.
"I guess we won't be using magic in here if we get into trouble, then," I half joke, straining to lighten the air that is thick with uncertain misgivings and terror that has made itself more and more apparent in the past few minutes alone, growing ever more the deeper we stray into the forest, the wall of brambles sealed off by the shadows behind us until all that is left to do is walk, and push forward.
Fangorn fell in love with... an angel?"Lilyana..?" I whisper tentatively, bringing myself level to Ithuriel with a gradual shift of my body, stealing a moment to let myself lounge in the gloriously warm rays and rejuvenating golden light of the overhead sun, a refreshing experience compared to the icy damp of the forest. From somewhere, a crow screams.Ithuriel's ears flicker back as he dips his nose downwards in affirmation:Yes, some two hundred years ago, Fangorn must have come across Lilyana. From the minimal stories that Lilyana used to tell us, their relationship must have lasted many cycles of the moon, though Soren's diary is sparse on the details. Very formal.Ithuriel shakes the dust off his body and we continue walking, striving through the dense patches of thickets and brambles, an ache forming in my chest- the longing to return to that affable cosiness environed in the sunlight, to linger just a second longer to feel like warmth permeate my skin and provide strength against the seeping cold within my bones. And then another ache forms, a different kind and one that is not so easily sated, laced with want and the remnants of an inescapable lust. I rub my neck tensely.Ithuriel catches the motion, his body growing rigid with cautioned movements. Whether he continues talking because he wants to, or more simply to keep me distracted from the rising and falling of pure, unadulterated need, I cannot fathom, but let him continue on interrupted anyhow:I do not think Fangorn, of whatever character he may be, will turn on us. He does not serve Soren anymore, and if anything his allegiance is more closely related with that of Lilyana. By the rules of banishment, after Soren cast Fangorn out, he would have been banished from Sezeria with a death penalty on his head. Considering Soren is the one who cast him out, it would be unwise for a prince to go back on his word- even if he wanted to.I start to make a reply, but am stopped short by a looming presence that rises out of my periphery. A thick, ominous wall of brambles springs into view, emerging from the unyielding fog that plagues the bounds of the great forest like a serpent rising from the coils of a blustery sea, winding its way past tall redwoods and spruces in a continuous path of destruction and chaos will ill disregard for anything that might be swept into its grips. My unconscious steps stagger to a steadying halt, and I fall into place under the harsh shadows of the trees, at once feeling incredibly small."This is the place," I confirm, shoving down my anxiety with one swift gulp, flexing my fingers under the cuffs of my blouse. I inhale a few steadying breathes.Ithuriel takes a few hesitant steps forward, antenna glowing, sensing and seeking as the hairs on his back bristle with unbridled unease. Numbly, I follow behind him, treading my way confidently despite the fact that few creatures ever dare to approach the borders of the end- not unless they have a death wish- not unless they are me.Ithuriel stops for a moment and paws at a ringed scorch mark on the ground, undisturbed by the gales that shake this forest when the witching hour has stuck, or the flustered footfalls of an animal escaping its untimely demise. The fox raises his head and gives me a knowing look.That's your magic. I guess you did a number on Soren that day, huh?He chuckles to himself, as if amused at the idea, lightening the tense worry swimming in the air around us, and I offer him a sly smile as I try my best to ignore the pang that shoots through my body at the mention of his name.Perhaps if I hadn't been so rash with Soren last night this would not be a problem, that I wouldn't be burdened with this nagging affliction in the back of my head that scrabbles neverendingly to take control of my body- a parasite in its host.You know you love it, another part of me whispers beguilingly.I shake my head clear."He didn't even see it coming," I smirk proudly, rubbing my neck before hotly before striding over to the wall of brambles, indicating with a curl of my finger behind me for Ithuriel to follow."Last time I got into the end through a break Soren carved out in the brambles. If I am lucky, it will still be here. But there is something wrong with the end. It has some sort of magic repellent, or wards, perhaps? They must be limited, but it stopped Soren from shadowshifting in. Be careful," I inform, and Ithuriel reassures me with a satisfied bark.Together we trace our way up and down the thorned wall of barbed spikes and death, caught in the gloom of the shadows it casts and painfully aware that every second searching is another second lost. The sun and the light will soon be draining away into the horizons, lost to the moon and the bright twinkling fluorescence of the stars, and the vampires, the creatures who stalk the night with an insatiable desire for blood and lust. I cannot afford to be caught out after nightfall. Not in my state.I have got it!Ithuriel calls in my mind at last after what seems to be endless minutes of fruitless searching, drawing me from my trance one might think finding a gap in a thick void of brambles would be easy, but alas that is not the case. I murmur my thanks to the gods and delve my way past bushes over to Ithuriel, brushing off lose bits of bracken and crumby leaves from the shoulders of my blouse.It doesn't take long for me to confirm it is, in fact, the very same place.Bitter memories and panic start to bubble in the back of my throat, leaving an unpleasant taste in its wake. A whirlpool rolls in my stomach, a dull dread that devours my courage and snaps at the strength in my bones, transforming my outer bravery into a pitiful, shaky mess. Sweat trickles a path down the side of my head like a snail trail.What is Fangorn like I wonder? I think to myself with the nervous intent one usually has when convincing themselves to do something they find themselves rather not wanting to do.A phantom smell of blood lingers on the edge of my nose, and panic rises further up, spilling into the gorge of my throat.Yet there is no time to be scared about it.Hardening my resolve, I plunge into the bramble filled pathway and seal off my fate.***I emerge from the thicket of brambles worn, bruised, and not entirely unharmed, breathing heavily and sweating with obvious profuseness at the effort to make it through the narrow wedge of clear ground without acquiring bloody gashes all over my body, yet still upkeeping a sensible manner of time, all too aware of the gradual dipping of the sun from the horizon like a countdown on a clock. My skin is laden with numerous scratches: too shallow to draw blood, yet too deep to be numb to the mind, as though my skin is bristling with a thousand miniature paper cuts that shock pain through my nerves like electrics through a cable.I bend down, cradling my torn arm, focusing what little energy I have remaining on healing those scratches. My body pulses with an ominous golden glow, one pulse, then another, before my skin sews itself back together, reknitting each fibre after another at such remarkable speed that even a vampire would be jealous, leaving me washed over in a refreshing, dewy parlour, as though I hadn't just strived to walk blindly through a thicket of man-eating brambles.I arise and stretch out my aching limbs as Ithuriel circles my legs, boasting his unscathed body, fluffy tail brushing up against my calves as he stops short to peer into the darkness of our surrounding, eating away at our line of sight like the maw of some fantastical, deadly beast.Much worse has been supposed of the end.Where do you think Fangorn will be in this wasteland? Ithuriel puzzles, exasperation lacing the edges of his voice as he moves to test the darkness, antenna throbbing with a feeble light, extending and retracting in a futile effort to make sense of the pitch black that surrounds us.I shrug at his question, wiping the light sweat that is beginning to douse the back of my hands on the side of my trousers as I stumble to regain my breath."I can't imagine he will be anywhere close to the borders. With a hefty price on his head, if someone did ever wander into the end, I doubt he would make himself the first creature present." I explain, my voice lowered to a fragile whisper, too nervous to raise my voice above even the lowest of pitches for fear of what exactly might be listening. There are plenty of legends about the creatures who stalk the end: lanky long-limbed monsters who tower as tall as redwoods, picking off creatures at unawares from high up in the trees, swallowing them down and discarding their bones which are so small in comparison that the creature is said to use them as toothpicks. There are hounds that never sleep, hybrid monsters who never saw the sunlight for the shunning of society, and halfling vampires who escaped the vile wrath of Soren's domineering hand when their existence was created by those too foolish to understand what it means to give life. I shake my head blandly.In order for life to be given, something must always be taken, no matter what. It is only pitiful that this concept, this vital knowledge has made itself privy to alchemists, angels and witches, is a lesser known principle among the other races. It certainly has caused numerous casualties over the past hundred of years for mal use."I suppose the best thing we can do is just look," I decide at last, crestfallen, and not in the least bit keen to go any further into the end than is necessary. Yet the mission demands it, and with inevitable hands of time ticking down my time as a free angel, there is hardly time for me to be scared. My body boils with a nervous energy as I summon a flame in the palm of my hand, weak and puny against the inescapable void of darkness that devourers us, as though dampened and sucked out by some external force into little more than a smidgen of what my powers are capable off. Ithuriel and I share a look of lasting concern."I guess we won't be using magic in here if we get into trouble, then," I half joke, straining to lighten the air that is thick with uncertain misgivings and terror that has made itself more and more apparent in the past few minutes alone, growing ever more the deeper we stray into the forest, the wall of brambles sealed off by the shadows behind us until all that is left to do is walk, and push forward.
