OOC :: Foredated to March 25th.
It was cold beneath the towering evergreens. Falcon adjusted his shawl and leaned back against an old, rough pine; whoever stole his cloak better have been appreciating it. The thought would have made him angry a few days ago, but now… Well, the hybrid had bigger, more important things to worry about. Fluffy, white, Cottongrass-shaped things.
Birdsong floated through the thick canopy, and Falcon whistled along. A cardinal, a mockingbird, some sort of jay—all welcome distractions from his newest anxieties. He drifted from one call to another, but he couldn’t quite hit the right notes. Falcon supposed luperci just weren’t meant to talk to birds, at least not in their language. It was probably for the best; birdsong was a lot prettier when you didn’t know which chirps meant “food,” “danger,” and “sex.”
The Elkenfrey wondered how far he was from the border. It was easy to get lost in Noxweald—surrounded by identical, dimly-lit trees—and he wanted nothing more than to lose himself. Falcon breathed in cool, damp air and released it in a sigh. The forest reminded him of the Old Wood, but not in a bad way. There were no monsters in these woods, or at least no monsters anymore. Falcon shuddered at the thought—what a moon that had been.
A strong gust of wind blew through the canopy, startling a few of the birds and making Falcon smile. Noxweald… Noxweald was like the Old Wood because it felt like home, even more so than Winterwynd did. He slept in Winterwynd, worked in Winterwynd, and strengthened friendships in Winterwynd, but it wasn’t the Old Wood. It was home, but it wasn’t home. It wasn’t the place that—despite countless, haunting memories—Falcon wanted to get lost in.