It was, perhaps, the worst season to pay a visit to Metacarpal island. The heat was intense and the breeze was stifled by the carnivorous foliage, which only amplified the humidity that hung heavy in the air. It was also one of the most secluded places in Torchline in this season, and that same troublesome foliage provided a great deal of cover from prying - or floating - eyes or ears or other sensory organs.
Hadama had ostensibly come to patrol the island, with its overzealous vegetation and reputation for taking bites out of tourists who ignored the clearly posted warning signs.
He had also made arrangements to meet a ghost there, an invisible presence who was rarely seen these days, but who was very much still present in the region she ruled.
He stood at the edge of the jungle just past the connecting bridge, shaded by the overhanging branches with their crimson leaves but still visible. His arms were crossed over his bare chest as he contemplated a very large flower nearby that was doing its best to look innocent under his scrutiny.
Flora
Hadama had ostensibly come to patrol the island, with its overzealous vegetation and reputation for taking bites out of tourists who ignored the clearly posted warning signs.
He had also made arrangements to meet a ghost there, an invisible presence who was rarely seen these days, but who was very much still present in the region she ruled.
He stood at the edge of the jungle just past the connecting bridge, shaded by the overhanging branches with their crimson leaves but still visible. His arms were crossed over his bare chest as he contemplated a very large flower nearby that was doing its best to look innocent under his scrutiny.
Flora
