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Post by Hollywood Heidi on Oct 17, 2019 22:09:46 GMT -8
Located in the Stormlands.
Since I don't have the time nor mind to figure out The nursery rhymes that helped us out in making sense of our lives The cruel uneventful state of apathy releases me I value them but I won't cry every time one's wiped out
It's on days like this Robin most feels the remaining presence of the Children of the Forest. Torrential days when the rain falls hard even through the canopy, and the sky glows gray with diffused sunlight. He'd been brought up in the Faith of the Seven under his father's roof, but they never gave him comfort. It was only when his mother introduced him to the old ways that anything really made sense for him. The weirwood he could still just see off to the left.
Here, in the presence of the Old Gods, Robin drew a bead on the first buck he'd seen for weeks, and a man could only live on salmon so long before he started thinking like a Tully. He was upwind from the beast; the forest absolutely flooded with the stony scent of petrichor. He was all but invisible. Hood up, he gave the recurved bow a full pull and loosed. A crow-fletched arrow struck it square in the temple. The stag was dead well before it hit the ground.
He pushed his way through the bracken to his kill, cleaned and butchered the stag on the spot. He was miles from the cave he'd been using for the past couple months, and needed to travel light. He cut several steaks, the twin loins, harvested leg bones. The skull and rack he left intact under the weeping face of the weirwood.