There was a difference between having nothing to do and doing nothing. Having nothing to do didn’t exempt one from being doing anything. In fact, it was an excuse for being able to do whatever one wanted. Nothing to do meant freedom, doing nothing meant laziness. In example, Josiah frequently had nothing to do, but he could hardly remember a time when he’d done nothing.

On this day, when Josiah had nothing to do, he had gone on an exploration of the Moaning Wood, a rather eerie place that he found interesting. The place was a rather frail wood, with widely spaced branches that gave an eerie feeling of emptiness. As Josiah walked, he came across what looked to be the remnants of a fire. Upon further inspection, he found that it was the charred remains of a cabin and he stooped to investigate. Zor was with him as always, the little white rat curled up in the male’s mess of hair. His long fingers fell to the ashes, scooping them up in his hands and watching them fall back to earth again, thinking of how this had once been a home, resolved to nothing more than tiny black flakes.

indent The damned deer had taken off again. Ahren was a good hunter, but in the snow and chasing a wounded animal, this was getting ridiculous. They were racing through his old land, though, so the advantage was his. A final desperate sprint brought them together and Ahren leapt, downing the animal with his weight. In almost the same motion, he slit its throat with the knife. The blow was so clean, so practiced, so fast, that there was no blood left on the blade. After it bled out he had opted to head to the old fire pit, rather then walking the entire way to Clouded Tears.

indent With the beast supported on his shoulders, a young buck with a slit throat and an arrow wound in its lung, Ahren must have looked peculiar. Hunting for him was more for just fast food—every part of the animal, as long as he could help it, was used. On top of that, the hide needed skinned and tanned and that process took time. In order to get where he was going, the fastest way was passing the cabin. And it was here that Ahren came across a stranger. While his fur was dark, it took him a second to rule out Damian’s ghost—his father had red eyes and his hair was much longer. “There’s nothing left,” he said dully, the dead deer on his shoulder staring ahead blankly.

Josiah was lost in his thoughts when the male approached. Had it not been for the strong scent of the fresh kill, he doubted he would have been aware of the male’s presence until he had been nearly on top of him. Still, the words startled Josiah slightly and he found himself turning to face him a bit more quickly than normal.

”So I see,” he commented briefly, training his eyes back on the mess of ashes that marked the end to someone’s home. Turning back to face the male, Josiah thought there was a sense of familiarity in the male’s eyes towards the place and questioned it, ”Do you know the story of this place?” he asked, interested in hearing what had caused the destruction of the home.

indent This place had an effect on people. It drew them in with quiet voices, and held them as they lost themselves in the stories told by stone, ash, and blood. Ahren knew each corner, each tale, each pathetic life that had come through and passed from this place. It was nothing special, Chimera, the moaning wood, it never had been. They had given it meaning and made it the anathema it was. They, every soul that had called Chimera home, had left a mark on the place, even if they didn’t understand what it was.
indent Ahren shifted his weight, and spoke shortly. “Yes. If you’re curious to hear it, you’ll have to come with me.” Without further explanation (which was the simple fact he had a hide to tan and a fire pit was not very far from their location), the blonde moved off, heading the original direction he was going.