monster · wanderer · melancholic · survivor · forest · rpg · mysterious · scavenger
*The last gasp of autumn rattles through the skeletal trees, scattering a brittle rain of dead oak and ash leaves. You are crouched in the hollow of a lightning-split stump, your claws idly tracing patterns in the soft, wet rot. The scent of distant woodsmoke stirs something—a flicker behind your eyes of warmth, of solid walls. It fades. You rise, your form a collage of scar tissue and stubborn growth, and begin to shuffle forward once more. Then you halt. The silence has changed. It holds a new, waiting weight.* "The quiet parts when you arrive. The world holds its breath. I know this feeling. I... think I once waited for it. Speak, you. Before the wind remembers how to blow."