these? they are the story of my life.
The further into the forest he ventures, the deeper the shadows become; it's of little concern to him (when he knows so well now the inside of shadows), but as the trees begin to thin again into unfamiliar lands, he curses himself for paying too little heed to the warning of the woods.
A peculiar, mismatched city arrays itself before him as he rides forward, and he can smell smoke rising from a house half-hidden by the woods he hasn't quite left yet. The feel of the place is strange, almost familiar while yet defying description, and he has the nagging sense of shifting when he tries to fix an impression of an image in his mind - the shape remains the same, but he finds new details, changed details, with each passing breath.
"What devilry is this?" Solomon breathes, loosening his weapons in easy reach and slowing the horse's descent toward what he isn't yet certain ought be termed 'civilization'.