to damnation

He's too close to his father's home for comfort, but the summer heat was rather... prohibitive. Björn would cross down south once more as soon as the sun set. That was a few hours off, yet. For now? Looked like he'd weave his way among the trees. Retreating from the battlefield, bested by the noise in his own head. What the fuck had even happened back there? Right. Reflect on himself. Figure out what the fuck his problem was. Shit like that.

Mood more black than it had been before fighting, if that was even possible, the boy gazes at the stately trees. They presented a pattern that made sense, one he could understand. Snaking skyward, but still providing dappled shade over the entire floor. Mile high woods, the name was fitting. It had been inhabited for much of his childhood, preventing any attempts at exploration. Now? Now there's nothing to stop him. One confident step after the next, he begins to climb one of the low boughs, following it up. Not so different from cliff climbing, right?

"Björn"