Maples stood around the man. A wood thick with trunks that produced towering arms above his head. Perhaps at a time the forest was managed, evident only by the stumps that survived weather and decay. They were bodies cut at the ankles, smooth and strait. The gold eyes looked down at them, wondering why there were so many and what it meant for these lands. It was only a small amount of evidence; the forest had quickly reclaimed all that they might have left. Even the small houses only stood under the camouflage of fallen leaves, branches and towering trees that now knew no bounds.
The male road the mare, wearing nothing but Mother Nature granted fur. It had been morning when he ventured out into the unclaimed lands, but now the sun was high and tipping downward into dusk and he had yet to see a single soul. There was no reason for the male to run from his homelands, for his leader no longer sought his head for loving the King’s daughter figure. But Heath found it impossible to confront him so soon, and ventured outward in hopes of either materials or a refreshed mind. A small clearing was birthed from the roots of ancient trees and Heath dismounted to explore it. The mare was left to her own accord, while the male walked along with the thought of a meal stirring in his stomach.