Closed [The Bronze Woods] Acting Like Children.

[Medhozic]

53rd of Winter, 513AV. Plans wandered absently through his head as he leaned even further back against the tilted base of the gnarled branch. Thoughts of the days, soon, when he'd gather up his Miza's, buy some equipment suitable for hunting and general surviving, and head out of Syliras altogether. He knew that he couldn't stay in Ravok, and the same was for Syliras - of course it was a good place to be, safe and hospitable with plenty of good locations to travel around in.. the woods especially. He'd miss them the most, the game and the many different creatures around it. Not that he'd miss the Kelvics of course, but the others he would. He needed something. Being put down in the middle of the mortal plane, after countless.. years? He'd always told himself, from the fall, that he wouldn't follow the others. He wouldn't stand around, wouldn't simply stab himself to death in an attempt to rejoin the heavens. He didn't know if they'd succeeded but he could give an educated guess, which told him that they most likely hadn't. And he wasn't going to die at anyone else's hand either. He was going to survive, but.. he'd already done that for nearly five or six seasons now. And simply surviving wouldn't be enough, he didn't want to just spend the rest of his life crawling around and feeding from the carcasses of rabbits before falling into oblivion all over again - he wanted to get back to the heavens, from where he'd started. Whether there was somewhere in Mizahar, someone who could tell him.. or if it was a matter of traversing the planes in arcane studies, he would find a way back to Syna. Something roused him from those disheartening thoughts. A small rabbit, barely visible from the high perch - too high to find an accurate shot with the short-bow still held over his lap, an arrow notched and prepared against the limbs but the drawstring left loose. He was waiting for bigger game after all. Perhaps the rabbit would attract something larger, but he doubted it for the best part. Especially not the herbivores, probably a large bird or a wolf. He turned his gaze away and back to the tree-line, that broke Syna's light into thin ribbons. It was beautiful, as always. Her children glittered in even the mortal realms, like those high above that crooned around her essence. And he found himself drifting back again to the little voices of his brothers and sisters, the memories of those old times, and how he'd return there, soon. Even if it took a thousand seasons.