Vhalar, 20, 719
In a land where tree’s had roots like small hills and the sunlight was green by the time it reached the ground the Mortalborn wandered. The Immortal was gone, a fact he’d learned a few days prior but he’d yet to fully swallow. He felt a fool, he’d come to this city with the intent of learning more about himself but had only so far found more questions.
Yet there was something about this place that heartened him, despair hunted him and yet he found retreat beneath the reaching arms of Desnind’s great trees. This place was Different from Yaralon, it was quiet, but not in the same was that Emea was, this place had… life about it? He didn’t understand Desnind but it was impossible to deny the feeling that the very forest was alive in a way that he didn’t understand. Climbing up the gnarled roots of one great tree the Mortalborn still had a hard time rationalizing that there were trees in the forest with roots taller than himself. Yet there he was perched atop one such root. It made him feel very small, an uncomfortable feeling, it was a hard idea for him to swallow that there were things that could make him feel insignificant in their shadow.
He had much to ponder but he’d learned little so far, the language and culture of the guarded Sev’ryn made gaining any headway in desnind doubly hard. He found the people utterly confounding, it seemed to him as if they could see things he could not in the forest, the knowing expressions the elders wore concerned him, it was as if there was some secret the Sev’ryn were all in on to make outsiders nervous.
Crossing his legs he sat alone in the forest, he had spent his first several days here jumping at the slightest rustle of leaves or the snap of a twig, but the sounds of the forest were growing on him, he didn’t yet feel comfortable in this verdant sanctuary, but he was at the very least at ease for the moment. Letting his eyes close he pushed the stray thoughts from his mind and let himself simply be for a moment. He wasn’t sure if the knowledge that Moseke was absent angered him or relieved him, he was in a way afraid of what it would mean to meet an immortal other than his mother.
Stripping a twig from a nearby sapling the mortalborn began idly breaking it into smaller and smaller pieces in his hand as he pondered many things but arrived at no new conclusions, his mind unable to find its way of its current box. Nervous energy consuming his idle moments forcing him to wander into the forest so that he had somewhere large enough to hide from reality for a moment.