a garden deep, a garden dark

Bold, brave, brash-- chaotic entitled, probably an applicable narrative. Winding through the shadowy cavern, lit only by the glow of the mushrooms and the faintest sunlight that could filter in, Björn doesn't allow anything to shake him. There's a chill to him, and a confidence that can't be shaken. Unbroken, unbent, drawn below with deadly certainty and predatory grace. Taking all of it in, and tracking the scent that only became clearer as he neared. Though the trail acted strangely in the damp environment, he's unshaken. It's a path to follow, good as any.

Stony walls on each side, weaving through them. Enough landmarks to drive him back to the surface when the time comes, though Björn leans into the sickly light of the mushrooms. Every part of it is strange, and every part of him is enticed by it. Drawn in, by the cavern and by the woman's whisper. A woman, he knows as much for certain now. He can hear her, feel her gaze upon his dark coat, but where was she?

Taking in the cavern for all its worth, Björn's focus is intent. Taking in all he can, though she still eludes him. The man's voice is confident, brassy as it rings from his chest once more. "Why do you hide, sweetheart?" Dripping charm, in the worst ways. All the worst ways. Tracing the damp, shining walls with an icy gaze. Björn is careful, searching among the moss and the mushrooms. A game of hide and seek, but perhaps the stakes are higher than usual. It makes him feel alive, terribly and wonderfully alive. It's far more than just exploring, this time.

"Björn"