Madness has its own brand of clarity. There between the waves of insanity lurked a startling clean gasp of air. It tastes like heaven but with the burn in your lungs as you struggle to get enough and hold it. Just hold it.
The sound of the woods was almost musical, a twinkling sort of melodious as the wind sweep the ice laden branches of the Shiverwood, perhaps to try and ward off the dangers of the plague that has been wrought upon the whole of Mythris. Or maybe, at least here, to try and contain something. The song playing on the wind becomes a pattern, growing louder in the distant as if to guide you.
- do you follow the path toward the Rimefeather Edge, further away from the danger on the western shore? Or do you brave the risk that lay to the west?