It’s late in the evening, and though there’s hardly a cloud in the sky, Mordhaus’ massive frame casts an imposing shadow that stretches across the empty fields. Winds blow the bitter, earthy aftertaste of strong weed. Nathan, resting on his balcony, catches a whiff and is soon drawn to the stream, a brook less than half a mile’s walk from the castle. He leaves the fortress as the sun continues to ease into the silent woods, turning the hazy orange sky into a dark, muddled purple.
The temperature drops quickly, though Nathan remains unaffected until he hears water wafting, and tastes the fresh crisp air mixing with the deepening stench of cannabis. When he catches wind of a certain voice, a smile emerges. He picks up pace, only coming to a slow once he notices the anxiety ridden in the voice, and halts when he spots Pickles on his phone, pacing from rock to the next.
“Well, yeah. Ya’ got a point, but–”