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((relating to events three and a half weeks ago))
As Sigrun passes through the gates leaving Sundren he lets out a sigh of relief. Nyx plods along behind him, his head pulled left to right by a myriad of distractions: a grasshopper, a bird call, a stone kicked off the boot of his master to clatter down the road.
~
A day later finds the ranger in a wooded area, far from any road or settlement where he stands statue-like; taking the air of the woods in through his nostrils, his eyes moving from tree to tree.
For a time he remains this way to take in his surroundings, to let nature forget he's here. Slowly he kneels, removing his glove and placing his hand on the dirt. Gradually, gently he flexes his fingers and rolls his palm, letting his hand sink into the ground to eventually be covered by the earth.
The ranger pulls back his hood and lets his eyes close, but he can still see the surrounding wood. Every minute or so, he cracks them open and references what they see to what his other senses detect, combining them with what his memory offers.
He raises his free hand to Nyx, who immediately stops panting and lies down quietly. The wolf knows what his master means and that he needs silence.
Finally satisfied, Sigrun lets his eyes close again, and this time does not reopen them. Behind his eyelids, a truer version of the forest resides.
His fingers flex very slightly under the dirt, feeling the tiny grains of rough soil rolling together against his skin.
Now he listens to Nyx and synchronizes his own breathing with the wolf’s … cancelling that sound from his awareness.
He waits. The sun creeps across the sky, roots grow, insects burrow, clouds pass, and none of them pay any mind to the green-cloaked man kneeling on the ground.
...
A faint sound travels between the trees, reaching the ranger's ear. He slowly lowers his head to rest next to his shoulder and the sound fades. He raises his head again and it returns. The direction is clear: diagonally behind him on the right.
A worm slides over Sigrun’s buried hand and he reflexively pulls it back. He opens his eyes and the light floods in, destroying the forest of his mind. All the sounds he had fought to focus on are drowned out by the sudden cacophony of birds chirping, leaves rubbing together and wood groaning. His awareness has been shattered. He looks around, his breath faltering, feeling like he just broke the surface of a lake.
He stands too quickly and feels his hips and knees protest, having been locked in position for too long. Anger begins to rise and he struggles to control it … thwarted by a worm.
Sigrun looks back at Nyx who regards him excitedly with his tail thumping against the ground. He sees his master’s task is finished but does not yet sense its failure.
The ranger grinds his teeth and looks at his surroundings, then at the sun. He sees his time sliding away and observes that he now has two and a half hours less.
His attention is drawn back as he feels the wolf licking his hand, making an attempt to console him.
He pats Nyx’s head absent mindedly as pulls his bow from his back, looking across the ground for physical tracks. Eight hours left until he needs to turn back to Sundren, with or without a beast for the Enclave feast.
The thought crosses his mind that he shouldn’t return at all, but he shakes his head to banish the thought and steps into the underbrush, a wolf at his heels.
As Sigrun passes through the gates leaving Sundren he lets out a sigh of relief. Nyx plods along behind him, his head pulled left to right by a myriad of distractions: a grasshopper, a bird call, a stone kicked off the boot of his master to clatter down the road.
~
A day later finds the ranger in a wooded area, far from any road or settlement where he stands statue-like; taking the air of the woods in through his nostrils, his eyes moving from tree to tree.
For a time he remains this way to take in his surroundings, to let nature forget he's here. Slowly he kneels, removing his glove and placing his hand on the dirt. Gradually, gently he flexes his fingers and rolls his palm, letting his hand sink into the ground to eventually be covered by the earth.
The ranger pulls back his hood and lets his eyes close, but he can still see the surrounding wood. Every minute or so, he cracks them open and references what they see to what his other senses detect, combining them with what his memory offers.
He raises his free hand to Nyx, who immediately stops panting and lies down quietly. The wolf knows what his master means and that he needs silence.
Finally satisfied, Sigrun lets his eyes close again, and this time does not reopen them. Behind his eyelids, a truer version of the forest resides.
His fingers flex very slightly under the dirt, feeling the tiny grains of rough soil rolling together against his skin.
Now he listens to Nyx and synchronizes his own breathing with the wolf’s … cancelling that sound from his awareness.
He waits. The sun creeps across the sky, roots grow, insects burrow, clouds pass, and none of them pay any mind to the green-cloaked man kneeling on the ground.
...
A faint sound travels between the trees, reaching the ranger's ear. He slowly lowers his head to rest next to his shoulder and the sound fades. He raises his head again and it returns. The direction is clear: diagonally behind him on the right.
A worm slides over Sigrun’s buried hand and he reflexively pulls it back. He opens his eyes and the light floods in, destroying the forest of his mind. All the sounds he had fought to focus on are drowned out by the sudden cacophony of birds chirping, leaves rubbing together and wood groaning. His awareness has been shattered. He looks around, his breath faltering, feeling like he just broke the surface of a lake.
He stands too quickly and feels his hips and knees protest, having been locked in position for too long. Anger begins to rise and he struggles to control it … thwarted by a worm.
Sigrun looks back at Nyx who regards him excitedly with his tail thumping against the ground. He sees his master’s task is finished but does not yet sense its failure.
The ranger grinds his teeth and looks at his surroundings, then at the sun. He sees his time sliding away and observes that he now has two and a half hours less.
His attention is drawn back as he feels the wolf licking his hand, making an attempt to console him.
He pats Nyx’s head absent mindedly as pulls his bow from his back, looking across the ground for physical tracks. Eight hours left until he needs to turn back to Sundren, with or without a beast for the Enclave feast.
The thought crosses his mind that he shouldn’t return at all, but he shakes his head to banish the thought and steps into the underbrush, a wolf at his heels.