What is a ghost?
Wildwood.
Maybe he has heard this whispered on the lips of those back in the Hollowed Grounds, the tone somewhere between fear and excitement. After the destruction of the barrier, the breach of the spire, time ceased to unfold normally. Seiji remembers it all as a blur, distinct events melding together and reordering themselves at will. He was not present for most of it. He did not think it a very good idea, all the fighting and the jostling and the tension wringing the air. Now, of course, it is done. For better or worse. And he stands at the edge of the trees.
He fears them. He is not too proud to admit this. They are unlike the first wood he met in Caido. They are taller, denser, more ferocious in a way he cannot describe. The air between them hums, hot and sticky. And Seiji is nothing at the foot of them. A sprig of grass bending softly to tilt back his head, to peer into the shadows of the boughs. He knows some people must have gone inside, already. He does not know what they found. Seiji himself is dressed in shirtsleeves, sweat slick on his skin. A far cry from the aching cold of Longnight. He combs back unkempt bangs with his fingers and steps forward.
He is not quite certain what he intends. The questions on his tongue are myriand and poorly formed just yet. But he has ever been the one to push forward into the unknown. He cannot bear the lack of knowledge. Or, perhaps — the lack of trying. Even through his fear.
He moves softly as a doe, his every step placed with care. His dark eyes rove from trunk to trunk, shadow to shadow, through beams of sunlight and across the fertile ground. His progress is slow. He has no goal beyond exploration, beyond seeing what he may see. Firsthand experience is always better than merely asking, Seiji thinks. Though even as he begins to progress, he never seems to make it very far...
Maybe he has heard this whispered on the lips of those back in the Hollowed Grounds, the tone somewhere between fear and excitement. After the destruction of the barrier, the breach of the spire, time ceased to unfold normally. Seiji remembers it all as a blur, distinct events melding together and reordering themselves at will. He was not present for most of it. He did not think it a very good idea, all the fighting and the jostling and the tension wringing the air. Now, of course, it is done. For better or worse. And he stands at the edge of the trees.
He fears them. He is not too proud to admit this. They are unlike the first wood he met in Caido. They are taller, denser, more ferocious in a way he cannot describe. The air between them hums, hot and sticky. And Seiji is nothing at the foot of them. A sprig of grass bending softly to tilt back his head, to peer into the shadows of the boughs. He knows some people must have gone inside, already. He does not know what they found. Seiji himself is dressed in shirtsleeves, sweat slick on his skin. A far cry from the aching cold of Longnight. He combs back unkempt bangs with his fingers and steps forward.
He is not quite certain what he intends. The questions on his tongue are myriand and poorly formed just yet. But he has ever been the one to push forward into the unknown. He cannot bear the lack of knowledge. Or, perhaps — the lack of trying. Even through his fear.
He moves softly as a doe, his every step placed with care. His dark eyes rove from trunk to trunk, shadow to shadow, through beams of sunlight and across the fertile ground. His progress is slow. He has no goal beyond exploration, beyond seeing what he may see. Firsthand experience is always better than merely asking, Seiji thinks. Though even as he begins to progress, he never seems to make it very far...
Something dead that seems to be alive.
Something dead that doesn't know it's dead.
