Dance with the Earthhide Dreadmaw.
An hour had gone by since Leon entered Green Grove Forest, yet it had been days.
Trees closed in upon him, their gnarled forms standing like silent witnesses. The forest breathed not—too quiet, too still.
The forest air was thick now, not with heat—but tension.
The forest air was thick now—not with heat, but tension.
Leon's robe, where it had been so smooth and clean before, had battle signs: torn, jagged tears on the sleeves, dirt and scratch marks that ran across his chest, and a few spots of blood—those of the beast, not his own. The golden thread of his robe glowed softly in the moonlight, like starlight battle scars.
He breathed and raised his head.
The double moons were already up, casting an otherworldly, silvery light over Green Grove Forest. Shadows stretched out long on the forest floor. The trees appeared to share quiet, unintelligible secrets.
