Willfur
The meadow is immaculately groomed, obvious care having been taken by someone, or something, to trim the shrubbery into measured angles and smooth, flat planes. The emerald green grass is cut short and with perfectly even edges to separate this small staging area from the rest of the forest and thin wisps of fog drift up from the dense turf, dissipating around chest-height and making everything feel small and close, limiting the mules visual field to a mere meter in front of his nose.
Though he can't see the source, he can hear whispering, voices and syllables too low to sort into words or phrases from where he stands, his oversize ears swiveling fretfully. Restless and unsure, he paces back and forth along the threshold of the clearing, unnerved by what he's heard of this unnatural place, that it's an entrance to a shifting, labyrinthine path that appears only once annually to those who enter the whiteout. They say there are tests, mysterious gifts, and an enchanted tree at the trails end, but they also say that the dead speak to you along the way, ancestors and lost loved ones and those who would pass on wisdom or warning.
Having just recently seen another such wonder on the Eleutheria Plain, Willfur's eager to explore more, almost painfully curious, but the stallion hesitates. He's a stranger here, born far away and too young to assume that either of his parents might have passed on yet, or that they would even appear here if they had. He worries that it might seem disrespectful of him to enter, irreverent to whatever unseen powers act behind the scenes. What right does he have to come gawking and asking questions when a native might only have this one, brief chance at closure, or peace, or... well, anything personal and meaningful, anything more than a purely academic interest.
He sighs, too wary to go on without encouragement, but too entranced to give up so easily. "I don't suppose I could ask for a sign of permission?" He tries softly, one ear tipping forward, guarded, but hopeful.
With most questions of a spiritual nature he assumes that intent is more important than execution, but he's only just begun to read the many tomes describing Tempus and his children in the Dawn Court library. He's not familiar yet with what manner of deities rule over Novus, other than that they are very real and very present, both novel and untrodden ground for someone accustomed to religions based entirely on personal, unsubstantiatable faith. It's both fascinating and terrifying, so for now at least, he'll err on the side of caution, even if it does strain his composure.
@Liatris @Official Dawn Account
