68th of Winter, 507 AV
Silverwood
Silverwood
Thomas strolled across the damp forest floor, deeply breathing in the forest sights and smells. The musky odor of rot and muddy earth wrapped around, tainting the air heavy with the gentle scent of pine. The low sloshing of his feet as he pulled them out of the mud with effort, the eerie silence of an ever watching forest.
Finding an broken log, Thomas sat down, bringing a large book out of his pack. The rustling of pages broke the silence, soon to be accopmained by the young human's voice.
"Palmistry," he breathed out, his finger following the text as he read aloud, "Is the practice of divining a person's true character, and thus, their truest destiny. Be the question about love or luck, fame or fortune, all is determined in the detail found in the hand. Despite the generalization that palmistry solely deals with marked lines and wrinkles, which is correctly known as Chiromancy, palmistry reads the lines, the shape, even the skin of both left and right equally -- both keys to what has happened, and what will," the youth paused, glancing at his own palms, looking for whatever key opened the door to foresight regarding his own fate.
The morning sun shimmered playfully over the ancient forest, sunlight refracting and reflecting off dewy leaves, the entire forest bathed in a pale blue glow. Thomas sighed as he closed the heavy text, resting it against his chest as he lay down.
"Perfect," the youth whispered, his eyes watching the forests, hungrily devouring everything and anything he saw.
Thomas would remember this place, this moment.