Ravenous. Famished. Starved. Carnivorous-? No. That one didn’t quite fit. Still Locke smiles at his own mind’s stumblings. A trifle of entertainment did the game serve as he slipped through the woods of old. It was at the moment, an empty forest, lacking the thrill of life he’d lingered in this world to devore (oh, there’s one!). Even the usual sounds of birds, or insects seemed silenced by the weight of snow or shadows. Yet if the foolish son thought it strange, which he had, he connected it to some quality of the land. What the hell did he know about this place. Perhaps long long ago some god up and died here and now all mourn the area as sacred. Young age let the foolish boy believe it mattered not what happened to some long dead god. He was here. The dead god was not.
Of course, there were ghosts...and the slight possibility that it wasn’t the death sanctuary for a dead god. It nibbled at his conscience, nipping, nosing, needling, nesting- and he was off again. The dangerous warning signs for mortals were silenced by the desire of the boy who had a disposition for confusing warning sirens, for siren songs of the deep. And that desire? Well, you couldn’t really work a place, (pretend to) own a place, until you knew it. Even after his blood had warmed to the northern heat, his mind continued to lead him down the rabbit whole of wonder. Just what was around that corner? A buffalo! A forest! Nothing! Or so it seemed now. So much for exploring to fill his fathomless appetite for more.
At least the snow was lighter here. Though it was still enough to leave tracks. Dark eyes scan the white expanse, but so much for that trick. The snow only served to confirm he was nearly the only visitor here. Nearly. Yet the tracks rarely stuck to his deer path, and though he wasn’t past being young, the boy was past the stupidity to follow unknown tracks into a dark unknown wood. Nice try dead god ghost.
PLOP!
The lanky boy jumped nearly two feet straight up with a muted yelp, as snow from above fell upon his back- right onto his shoulders and those feathers. A spine snapping shiver curled his back and twisted his head up and around before he shook the offending frozen crystals from his ever touchy feathers. Damned things. They flexed and ruffled with his shake, fluffing, just as annoyed at the interruption as he. The cold stayed with him though. It was a curse he always thought. A damn god sent curse that they seemed to feel everything ten fold. (Hey look- point for dead god ghost) Not to mention it served to wash some of the dirt from his coat, spoiling the old traveler bit. Bright gold and white revealed itself through the patch the water created. Maybe he was letting his skills slip if this is what it came down to. With a frustrated snort the youth slipped onward, giving his tail a final flick in response to dead god ghost’s rude welcoming.
The word games were just getting to be dull, stale, mundane, lifeless- when he heard water running ahead. Horned head picked up and his hooves found purpose in their steps. Maybe it wasn’t entertainment, but at least he could finish what the dropped snow had started. Nothing revealed a mask like tearing a whole through your own face and not dropping dead. Plus a river would likely point the way to somewhere that was more filled with life. Or at least lead him out of this forest. Point for Locke. Take that dead god ghost.
OOC:: @nestle So excited to thread with you! Feel free to invite anyone else!
