05-13-2022, 01:40 PM
AESIOR OPHELES
✯ — it just sucks to try and explain
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the trip into the desert-like territory had been just as brutal as it had been the first time that he'd entered into tanglewood's swamp and found his home in a place that he hadn't known had existed. a place he wanted to make his family, people he wanted to make friends and family of. family wasn't always blood, and he knew that better than most. a place that was now home to the wanderer, a place that was safe enough for him to put down roots - it didn't seem like the group was going anywhere, but it had seemed that way when the golden eye had just disappeared seemingly overnight. he'd gone out to do trading and when he returned, they were all gone, and he was left to wonder what had happened. each tortishell and each rabbit he came across made his head turn. was it arlo and fragglerock? no. they were lost for good now.
taking a deep brath and exhaling, the tom looked up to the sweltering sun overhead and shook out his pelt, checking on the satchel on his hip and the canteen of water that he carried with him. pausing in the shade of a few trees that had begun to grow again in the burned wreck of the pitt's jungle, he sat down and took it from around his frame, twisting off the cap and taking a mouthful to soothe his burning throat. after twisting the cap back on, the tom would cough faintly, putting his paws on top of his tail to try and alleviate the burning pain that the hot sand brought him. he'd been too accustomed to the swamplands to worry about the desert, and what a mistake it had been. sitting now close to the border, he leaned his body against a tree trunk with a yawn, trying to scoop out sand from just between the roots to make a cooler resting spot for himself. sitting in the hollow he'd made, the tom would turn his head about, waiting for the first to come across him. his satchel sat at his side, his notebook withdrawn and laid at his paws with it's companion pencil bound to its side with leather wrappings, it was the mute individual's primary way of communication aside from growing flowers upon his shoulders and back.
taking a deep brath and exhaling, the tom looked up to the sweltering sun overhead and shook out his pelt, checking on the satchel on his hip and the canteen of water that he carried with him. pausing in the shade of a few trees that had begun to grow again in the burned wreck of the pitt's jungle, he sat down and took it from around his frame, twisting off the cap and taking a mouthful to soothe his burning throat. after twisting the cap back on, the tom would cough faintly, putting his paws on top of his tail to try and alleviate the burning pain that the hot sand brought him. he'd been too accustomed to the swamplands to worry about the desert, and what a mistake it had been. sitting now close to the border, he leaned his body against a tree trunk with a yawn, trying to scoop out sand from just between the roots to make a cooler resting spot for himself. sitting in the hollow he'd made, the tom would turn his head about, waiting for the first to come across him. his satchel sat at his side, his notebook withdrawn and laid at his paws with it's companion pencil bound to its side with leather wrappings, it was the mute individual's primary way of communication aside from growing flowers upon his shoulders and back.
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