He had meant to find his way back to the Mathair, to ask the Fae a few more questions and see how they had survived LongNight. It had been a simple enough concept, and he had bundled into his thick cloak against the early-spring chill, walking through the melting snowbanks with a spry step in spite of the losses of the recent winter. Some of his friends had died, yes, but Rory had survived and Flowerbirth was filling the world with life again, the creatures waking from the winter or simply bursting into frenzied activity as the season of growth arrived once more.
The Greatwood shifted subtly around him, turning his feet as he tried to focus too hard on where he wanted to go and his impatience to get there, and then it was not simply his feet but his ankle which turned, twisting beneath him as his foot tried to rise and his boot... didn't.
The white-haired bard let out an undignified yelp, more canine than ape, as he stumbled and lurched, foot slipping free of his boot as he hopped a few more steps, arms windmilling for balance. He managed, somehow, to keep from falling into a nearby snowbank that struggled fiercely to keep its shape even as it melted, but his boot remained behind, firmly gripped by the unusual-looking mud puddle that seemed determined to hold on to its new prize.
The Greatwood shifted subtly around him, turning his feet as he tried to focus too hard on where he wanted to go and his impatience to get there, and then it was not simply his feet but his ankle which turned, twisting beneath him as his foot tried to rise and his boot... didn't.
The white-haired bard let out an undignified yelp, more canine than ape, as he stumbled and lurched, foot slipping free of his boot as he hopped a few more steps, arms windmilling for balance. He managed, somehow, to keep from falling into a nearby snowbank that struggled fiercely to keep its shape even as it melted, but his boot remained behind, firmly gripped by the unusual-looking mud puddle that seemed determined to hold on to its new prize.
