As it happened, the person that left was not in fact kind enough to tell him where to find the items he needed. More specifically, he didn’t know if they would have been or not, because as he left, finding his way down the relatively unfamiliar halls, he didn’t see or hear anybody anywhere. It was an inconvenience, but he didn’t mind so much. It was quiet and dark throughout the home, leaving him to work silently and alone at a pace that didn’t irritate him to move at, as well as without the anxiety of messing something up that he’d get scolded for.

He’d become quite good at stealth, though he had wondered why for a moment given the fact that his old cohorts often took to screaming battlecries and swinging swords around like untrained heathens. But he had never been much of a fighter, at least not physically- he was far more likely to give a verbal lashing.

Such a train of thought only proved to stall him in his efforts, but what picked him back up was the knowledge that he was supposed to be a fucking bloodthirsty scoundrel. That was always what men of the sea were, wasn’t it? Not pathetic little orphans that had just needed a place to sleep?

For a man that had blood on his hands, he couldn’t help but feel like a coward and a helpless child over the fact that he was mourning his loss instead of moving on and getting over it. Especially since those men were far more cruel to him than kind. Well organized, trained, and obedient, but brutal nonetheless.

Eventually he did find something to write with, and after checking it all over to make sure it was suitable, he slipped out of the building. He pulled the door slow to soften the sound of the hinges and once it clicked shut, he turned on to have a glance around the place.

The embers of the firepits they’d sat around earlier had cooled. The torches had burned out, but the looming moon overhead, Thera, Home of the Dead, allowed enough light to show him the sleeping village.

Yale had had the thought of taking a direction at random, but just as he placed a step to do so, he huffed out an impatient breath, reminding himself that there was no such freedom here with the walls that circled the village. Displeasing as it was, he guessed it gave him a proper direction to head out in, and so he took it.

Thera guided the majority of his way, but as he neared the gate, he noticed the pale yellow glow that tinted the wood in increments as far off as he could see. Honestly, had it not been for the fact that the homes were kind of densely set, he probably could have seen the full perimeter of the gate, but regardless. He hadn’t noticed until he was closer that lanterns were set along the wall’s entirety, and upon nearing one, he paused.

His book fell open as he opened his hand, the brittle pages sounding in the silent night as he leaned to admire the glowing blooms inside. What better could he ask for as a first entry?

He wrote out the quick description of the white-yellow little blossoms poking out a compacted little patch of soil within the bottom of the lantern. They seemed to grow in small bushels, all of the separate flowers no bigger than his thumbnail, and yet their glow was radiant. Their petals peeled back, the light flowing from the centers of them.

Perhaps he would take Carver’s offer to go out in the morning, if only to see what he could find during the day, and ask around about the plants.

The ink of his writing cooled as he jotted each letter, and when he finished, he snapped the book shut again. Tucking the waterworn journal back into the loose pockets of his pants, he capped the ink again and looked a little more closely at the lantern. This one hung far closer to his height than the one they’d passed upon entering, and he could see that it rested on nothing more than an iron hook, making it easy to pluck from its place.

While Thera had little qualms about lighting the way within the village walls, he knew the Home of the Dead’s light would be stifled by the density of the trees that closed around the walls. So having this little bloom by his side was a pleasing thought. The comfort was matched only by the thought that it was kind of adorable.

The gates were loud upon opening, but he tried his best to quiet the whine of the rusted iron as he pulled it too once again. A brief glance was all he gave to see if anyone had been roused by the noise, but after noticing that he really didn’t want to be caught, he darted off into the thick of the trees, slowing only as they closed most of the view of the village. He kept it in his sights just long enough to note which way he was going, then made his way deeper.

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There was a certain odd comfort to be found among the forest so late. The darkness was cast aside by the yellow of his lantern, guiding him along at a leisurely pace. His steps, while silent on their own, were further quieted by the chittering of insects in the trees and the gentle cooes of whatever nocturnal creatures lurked. There were small cracks and taps throughout the canopy above him, yet he felt no danger. In the distance, the wash of the sea against the land came with a lovely rhythm, and the ocean air still meandered through the trees to dust along his skin.

He knew dangers lurked, as they did everywhere, and with the hag apparently always ready to throw her fits, he acknowledged that, maybe this was a bad idea. And still, he took in a deep breath of the familiar ocean scent, his fingers tapping absently against the small well of ink he carried.

Research took a back seat to his admiration of the rainforest. The misted air clung to him, the humidity combated by the breeze of the night. He still looked as he walked, noting here and there, a plethora of flora that was familiar to him, but more that weren’t.

In the occasional downtime he had while working aboard, he’d delved into the guilty pleasure of research, peeling through published journals and texts about animals and occasionally plants to be found in some of the places they’d go. Being a sea vessel, he seldom got his chance to roam that far inland, but even so, the only place he could think of that may feel anything close to this was Sindora, and even the brutal Silverclaws wouldn’t risk finding themselves along those shores.

The southwestern coast of Evoles had something near this, with its wetness and the smell of damp earth, but even the heatforests of Choudae weren’t comparable to this. The heatforests were humid and moist, squishy and almost swampy in a sense. Pinks and reds made up most of the vegetation there, and the air was always thick with the steam from the famous hotsprings in the area.

But there was a pleasant coolness within these forests, all colored in the earthy tones of brown and green, with hints of blue and yellow splashed here and there. He trailed past a few other flowers he had to stop and admire as well as jot down the details of before he found himself slowing at the edge of a tight clearing.

Thera’s dull hues were allowed to break through the canopy once again as the trees seemed to peel back from a central point. The grass was thick the further toward the middle it grew, and while the trees kept a distance, they extended vines out to curl around a small structure.

It was overrun with greenery, and yet still he could make out the shape of what looked like a well.

From the wood over it sprouted the occasional small brown mushroom, but for the most part it seemed strangled by a tangled weave of vines. Some dangled from the top, but most clung so their trails could continue to the stone foundation. A side had crumbled with the abuse of the vegetation impaling it, and now, that side spilled down into the dark pit below, but for the most part, it stood. For how long, Yale had no idea, but he couldn’t help but think it a wonder it had even managed this long. It looked as if it would fall in on itself at any moment, which made him all the more wary to be so close at its side.

Peering in, it looked deep. It most definitely wasn’t in use, but no one had thought to seal it up, meaning there was just an open, gaping hole protected by these time weathered sides that had already begun to fall. Still, part of him wished he was a better artist. There was a beauty to it; to the way it was being savagely reclaimed by the elements. He could sketch little plants, but even if he was to sit down and stare, he doubted he’d ever be able to capture the true depth of the scene.

Beauty or not, though, there was something else in the air around it- something heavier than what he’d felt as he walked through the surrounding trees. Heavy in an unpleasant sense, too. A presence even he, with no sihr in his blood, could detect. Or perhaps he was just paranoid.

That was also very likely.

It wasn’t often that he came across ruins, and he was admittedly still on edge even if his walk had calmed him. Not the pleasant kind of on edge he was back in their room either; the kind of on edge where he was contemplating the way Carver’s muscles would feel had he been allowed to grasp them with any sort of suggestive desperation.

This clearing had washed that prospect away entirely, and brought back the far less enticing type of on edge that came with the thought of his recent loss. Even of his older loss. Any, really- that was what this was. That was what the air held. A very thick feeling of loss.

And he needed to get away from it… He had just started to relax.

Perhaps the walk back would be nicer. Perhaps he could focus more on what he’d set out to do. He had seen a few things he hadn’t bothered to stop and write, lest he disrupt his own calm, so maybe--

A crack sounded at the edge of the wood.

He flinched back, freezing up to a point even his breath was held.

Was it better, or was it worse, to hear a voice hiss “What the fuck are you doing out here?”