He was being followed.
Though, it was not as if there was any way for Kasrjin to know that. Unlike the stark, rugged glaciers or the winding mountains, the forests of the Shroud were a relentless assault on the senses. Every breeze caused a thousand branches to chime in rhythmic staccato, and every broken twig that cracked beneath his boot sent something--or someone--scurrying away in trepidation through a thousand more unfortunate shrubs and leaves. The wildlife that had so politely excused him during his combat with his masked assailants had just as rudely and suddenly returned and bombarded the silence away with chatters and chirps.
His original plan had been to loop around in case he was being followed, but that endeavour had been handily sunk, for not only was it nigh impossible to determine a pursuer's presence, but Kasrjin found himself lost the instant he left anything that could resemble familiar ground. It was if the forest itself was alive and impeding his progress, perhaps in penance for slaying those who were meant to protect it.
The Xaela trudged over ledges and roots, the sloping hill gradually giving way to flatter, less obtuse terrain, and shook his head at the thought. It was possible, but improbable. He paused and turned his head slightly to the side, hoping to catch a glance of something from his peripheral vision. Every new stop brought a new sound, a new smell, a new sight, and try as he might, Kasrjin had completely failed to differentiate what was and wasn't a threat.
A sigh of frustration escaped his lips as he paused again to examine his surroundings. It was nothing but more timber, more grass, more rocks, more dirt...nothing at all that indicated where he was or where he could be going. Once again, the wooded labyrinth had wrapped him in its loving embrace, and even finding north seemed impossible.
The Au Ra continued wandering aimlessly, hoping to at least find a camp site before night fell when a foul odor made itself offensively known to his nose in the same way that an errant bird might find itself unwelcome inside a blacksmith's furnace. The frown that split itself across Kasrjin's face turned into a scowl when his steps took him to a familiar site: an arboreous copse perched on a gentle, inclined hill, marked with displaced dirt and dried blood. That stench was one of the spear warrior's bodies being returned to the earth further down the hill where he had kicked it.
He'd done nothing more than make a complete circle.
His mind paused briefly.
That was intentional.
He shook his head.
After a thorough examination of the site to make sure he simply hadn't mistaken one corpse-ridden grove with another that just happened to have the same marks, blood, and bodies--with this forest, Kasrjin could never tell--and that this was indeed where the fight had taken place, the Xaela's vexation gave way to exasperation and eventually submission. After all, he had noted that the grove would make a relatively isolated campsite, and it's not as if the flanks of venison sitting in his furred pack were getting any fresher. If he was lucky, the smell of decomposing cadavers might also keep away more squeamish visitors...or it'd bring unwanted attention. Yet, perhaps that was not so bad. Assuming they didn't attack him outright--an audacious assumption to be making, surely--Kasrjin noted that perhaps they might lead him out of this godforsaken forest. He sat down on a felled log and laid the furred pack and the, the sword immediately slumping to the ground, as if sensing the defeat of its wielder.
Damn his pursuers, if they even existed. The Xaela set about looking for twigs for a fire to dry the venison.
He might be stumbled upon by more who wished him harm, but that had to be better than being lost for another sun.
Though, it was not as if there was any way for Kasrjin to know that. Unlike the stark, rugged glaciers or the winding mountains, the forests of the Shroud were a relentless assault on the senses. Every breeze caused a thousand branches to chime in rhythmic staccato, and every broken twig that cracked beneath his boot sent something--or someone--scurrying away in trepidation through a thousand more unfortunate shrubs and leaves. The wildlife that had so politely excused him during his combat with his masked assailants had just as rudely and suddenly returned and bombarded the silence away with chatters and chirps.
His original plan had been to loop around in case he was being followed, but that endeavour had been handily sunk, for not only was it nigh impossible to determine a pursuer's presence, but Kasrjin found himself lost the instant he left anything that could resemble familiar ground. It was if the forest itself was alive and impeding his progress, perhaps in penance for slaying those who were meant to protect it.
The Xaela trudged over ledges and roots, the sloping hill gradually giving way to flatter, less obtuse terrain, and shook his head at the thought. It was possible, but improbable. He paused and turned his head slightly to the side, hoping to catch a glance of something from his peripheral vision. Every new stop brought a new sound, a new smell, a new sight, and try as he might, Kasrjin had completely failed to differentiate what was and wasn't a threat.
A sigh of frustration escaped his lips as he paused again to examine his surroundings. It was nothing but more timber, more grass, more rocks, more dirt...nothing at all that indicated where he was or where he could be going. Once again, the wooded labyrinth had wrapped him in its loving embrace, and even finding north seemed impossible.
The Au Ra continued wandering aimlessly, hoping to at least find a camp site before night fell when a foul odor made itself offensively known to his nose in the same way that an errant bird might find itself unwelcome inside a blacksmith's furnace. The frown that split itself across Kasrjin's face turned into a scowl when his steps took him to a familiar site: an arboreous copse perched on a gentle, inclined hill, marked with displaced dirt and dried blood. That stench was one of the spear warrior's bodies being returned to the earth further down the hill where he had kicked it.
He'd done nothing more than make a complete circle.
His mind paused briefly.
That was intentional.
He shook his head.
After a thorough examination of the site to make sure he simply hadn't mistaken one corpse-ridden grove with another that just happened to have the same marks, blood, and bodies--with this forest, Kasrjin could never tell--and that this was indeed where the fight had taken place, the Xaela's vexation gave way to exasperation and eventually submission. After all, he had noted that the grove would make a relatively isolated campsite, and it's not as if the flanks of venison sitting in his furred pack were getting any fresher. If he was lucky, the smell of decomposing cadavers might also keep away more squeamish visitors...or it'd bring unwanted attention. Yet, perhaps that was not so bad. Assuming they didn't attack him outright--an audacious assumption to be making, surely--Kasrjin noted that perhaps they might lead him out of this godforsaken forest. He sat down on a felled log and laid the furred pack and the, the sword immediately slumping to the ground, as if sensing the defeat of its wielder.
Damn his pursuers, if they even existed. The Xaela set about looking for twigs for a fire to dry the venison.
He might be stumbled upon by more who wished him harm, but that had to be better than being lost for another sun.
