1 Ashan 718
The journey towards Rharne proved to be nightmarish at best. The arrival of Ashan had brought back the light, and the temperatures were far from optimal. Rocky roads had begun revealing themselves from under the snows. Trees were returning their brown hue, burying the world behind them their ominous shadows. The details of the land made themselves known now, and flooded the eye with thousands upon thousands of little aspects. The treacherous roads with their turns and twists, the bags of dirt and rock, innocent by nature and mere details surrounding the road, were all ready to be inspected. Painters would find their eyes bleeding upon being tossed into a world so full of detail, unable to capture it whole within the borders of a canvas.
The light seemed something the eyes had never witnessed before. It shone bright all morning, and thus the advance was difficult and tedious. Thick wool blankets made of fluffy clouds came at noon, and Maois’ eyes could finally fully open. No longer he navigated blindly like the castaway on its raft. Using the position of the sun and its trajectory in the skies, the male advanced north-east towards the city. It couldn’t be seen from where he was. A day of travel would, were luck by his side, be sufficient to reach it, or at the very least, get to spot it on the horizon. But the sojourn through the wilderness was slow and painful, with bushes forming blockades, rock formations forming walls, and the trees forming veils.
The roads were still there. Wagons and carts came and went even in the dark season, either driving wood to Rharne or supplies to Mistral Village. Rarely they carried travelers. Yet another disadvantage was the fact Maios refused to follow the road. It wasn’t a bad road, or a bad route. There were no unnecessary detours or runarounds. The route was direct. The stone used to construct them would make the advance as easy and free as the breeze that every so often came to caress the the flesh. Maios cared not about it. What he worried about where the highwaymen, the thieves, the bandits. He knew a bit of everything at his age, but the knew scum best of all.
Ptolemaios’ advance, and that of his dog Cholo, was slow and frustrating. It was also plagued by bad luck. The man had stepped into holes hidden by the vegetation, twice now, and his ankle was suffering. His nose had started soaping snot shortly after setting off. It was manageable at first, but the vast quantities overpowered him. All that wiping on his nose had formed a scab on the edge of his nostrils. It bled often. Fucking Ashan. To top it off, Maios had been feeling as if though he was followed. Stalked. His suspicions were confirmed when he spotted a wolf far behind him, at the edge of the field man and dog were slowly crossing. Being stalked by wolves meant trouble. In this region, wolf packs were common, for there was plenty for them to hunt. They were also very frequent sights, for local hunters couldn’t kill them as fast as they reproduced. A double-edged sword only seen in the countryside. Out here, alone, with nothing but a dog, wolf would mean trouble.
The green field came to an end, and there began a large pine forest. The trees were still young. Twenty meters of height or so. Probably another five arcs before they were tinned out, ten or fifteen before the forest was cut down. As soon as he stepped within, the light began thinning out. The terrain became more accessible, but the visibility was little. Cholo, the cur, didn’t seem to mind any of these issues. The dog, blissfully stupid as it was, still enjoyed the trip. Ever since setting its paws outside the house, the canine had not stopped for one moment. It jumped, it ran, it played in the twigs and chased birds.
Maios wasn’t as enthusiastic. He was rarely anything right now. He didn’t know what he felt, or how he felt. He avoided the introspection. He wasn’t ready for it. No images came flashing in his mind about his wife or the two daughters he had buried the previous seasons. No caravans of memories came to soap his eyes in tears. The mind, so wise as it was, had simply focused on the journey and that was it. Nothing could disrupt that concentration.
Howls.
He knew it. He fucking knew it.
When he looked around, there was nothing but trees. Even Cholo had stopped his marking of his territory, it’s hind still raised but no piss squirting out of it, head stuck, waiting for movement, attentive.
Without wasting another minute, Maios set off, as fast as he could, deeper into the forest.
Edit: This post has been heavily edited due to a error in the weather previously depicted.
The journey towards Rharne proved to be nightmarish at best. The arrival of Ashan had brought back the light, and the temperatures were far from optimal. Rocky roads had begun revealing themselves from under the snows. Trees were returning their brown hue, burying the world behind them their ominous shadows. The details of the land made themselves known now, and flooded the eye with thousands upon thousands of little aspects. The treacherous roads with their turns and twists, the bags of dirt and rock, innocent by nature and mere details surrounding the road, were all ready to be inspected. Painters would find their eyes bleeding upon being tossed into a world so full of detail, unable to capture it whole within the borders of a canvas.
The light seemed something the eyes had never witnessed before. It shone bright all morning, and thus the advance was difficult and tedious. Thick wool blankets made of fluffy clouds came at noon, and Maois’ eyes could finally fully open. No longer he navigated blindly like the castaway on its raft. Using the position of the sun and its trajectory in the skies, the male advanced north-east towards the city. It couldn’t be seen from where he was. A day of travel would, were luck by his side, be sufficient to reach it, or at the very least, get to spot it on the horizon. But the sojourn through the wilderness was slow and painful, with bushes forming blockades, rock formations forming walls, and the trees forming veils.
The roads were still there. Wagons and carts came and went even in the dark season, either driving wood to Rharne or supplies to Mistral Village. Rarely they carried travelers. Yet another disadvantage was the fact Maios refused to follow the road. It wasn’t a bad road, or a bad route. There were no unnecessary detours or runarounds. The route was direct. The stone used to construct them would make the advance as easy and free as the breeze that every so often came to caress the the flesh. Maios cared not about it. What he worried about where the highwaymen, the thieves, the bandits. He knew a bit of everything at his age, but the knew scum best of all.
Ptolemaios’ advance, and that of his dog Cholo, was slow and frustrating. It was also plagued by bad luck. The man had stepped into holes hidden by the vegetation, twice now, and his ankle was suffering. His nose had started soaping snot shortly after setting off. It was manageable at first, but the vast quantities overpowered him. All that wiping on his nose had formed a scab on the edge of his nostrils. It bled often. Fucking Ashan. To top it off, Maios had been feeling as if though he was followed. Stalked. His suspicions were confirmed when he spotted a wolf far behind him, at the edge of the field man and dog were slowly crossing. Being stalked by wolves meant trouble. In this region, wolf packs were common, for there was plenty for them to hunt. They were also very frequent sights, for local hunters couldn’t kill them as fast as they reproduced. A double-edged sword only seen in the countryside. Out here, alone, with nothing but a dog, wolf would mean trouble.
The green field came to an end, and there began a large pine forest. The trees were still young. Twenty meters of height or so. Probably another five arcs before they were tinned out, ten or fifteen before the forest was cut down. As soon as he stepped within, the light began thinning out. The terrain became more accessible, but the visibility was little. Cholo, the cur, didn’t seem to mind any of these issues. The dog, blissfully stupid as it was, still enjoyed the trip. Ever since setting its paws outside the house, the canine had not stopped for one moment. It jumped, it ran, it played in the twigs and chased birds.
Maios wasn’t as enthusiastic. He was rarely anything right now. He didn’t know what he felt, or how he felt. He avoided the introspection. He wasn’t ready for it. No images came flashing in his mind about his wife or the two daughters he had buried the previous seasons. No caravans of memories came to soap his eyes in tears. The mind, so wise as it was, had simply focused on the journey and that was it. Nothing could disrupt that concentration.
Howls.
He knew it. He fucking knew it.
When he looked around, there was nothing but trees. Even Cholo had stopped his marking of his territory, it’s hind still raised but no piss squirting out of it, head stuck, waiting for movement, attentive.
Without wasting another minute, Maios set off, as fast as he could, deeper into the forest.
Edit: This post has been heavily edited due to a error in the weather previously depicted.