Ever since the mountains, Journey’s travels had been somewhat more subdued. He had instead spent time visiting family and friends, not speaking much but just enjoying their companionship and thinking about his survival. He hadn’t expected to return alive and had, at one point, completely accepted death. A part of him had been left behind on that mountain, some piece of his soul and he both longed for it and felt freed. It was a strange feeling. He still ached, from the scars in his neck, especially as the days grew colder.The maze is tight and winding and in the part your kin finds themselves in, deeply, deeply dark. Not a speck of light seems to bleed in through the clustered and tangled thorns and after a time it is hard to tell where the sky even was. Everywhere you turn your kin’s fur is pricked with sharp thorns and their horns (or any other appendage) constantly get snarled up in the twisting, grasping plant life. The way seems to get smaller and smaller, the space more oppressive and claustrophobic until even the slightest sound of a twig snapping nearby is enough to ring out like an ominous threat. You see some light at the end of the tunnel, but it seems so extremely far away. Describe your kin’s trip through this part of the maze, do they manage to squeeze through the exit easily or is it difficult?
But this time of rest and family did not last long and Journey had found himself elsewhere, in a dark part of the Swamp. A place that left a bad taste in his mouth, and it wasn’t just the food - which seemed pleasing to the eye but somehow all smelt of death. There were stories that he had heard, of kin who ate their own and wallowed in the deepest sins. Was this such a place?
He who had proverbially died and been reborn again, knew little fear as he discovered the maze.
The wild tangle of thorns that beckoned him in, and so off he went, determined to see something new. Something just as strange as a ghostly eagle on a mountaintop.
But after some time walking, it seemed that Journey wasn’t going to see much of anything. His path was incredibly dark, so much so that he had to stop multiple times, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Each step forward was harder, thorns catching at his side and branches that he hadn’t been there before somehow catching in his horns. It took time to free himself each time he was forced to stop and he knew that he would leave here with his body littered with scratches and tears.
It wasn’t the first thicket he’d ever tried to push through but this was different.
The darkness was oppressive, pushing in on all sides just like the maze itself.
The smell was cloying, sticking up his nose and making him want to snort it out in search of fresh air.
Though there was a flicker of light in the distance, it never seemed closer and Journey was starting to feel the effects of being boxed in. He hated being constrained and caught. His was a life of freedom. If there was a danger to take on, he would face it himself, fight or flight - not trapped, waiting, listening to the crunch and crack of twigs that could be a hunter in the dark.
Journey decided to forget his cautious approach and started to really push, teeth gritted with determination. It hurt. And he stumbled, many times, over roots and branches, feeling like a stumbling foal. But finally, bleeding in long itchy lines up and down his sides, he stumbled into the light and was free. He breathed deeply, despite the strange scent that filled the maze, dragging air into his lungs.