TheWrittenArt

IX. Adamas sat on the floor cross-legged; his red cloak laid on the bed along with his other things piled on top of it that was already moved from the hanger pole. The small box containing the gloves that Henry made for him and given to him by his son, Darren, laid out opened in front of him and the note was in his paws. He was now wearing his light-brown shirt that Roselyn used the other night while the young woman, herself, was behind the dresser screen, trying on her Sparrow Ranger uniform that Duran had already made for her a year back. Before the beastman could read the note, his thoughts turned to Roselyn over the events that just happened recently. The first thing was her unusual mood change. Getting hugged from her is one thing, but after she opened that door it was like she was rushing out; almost as if she was trying to find him which made no sense as to why. After that, she didn’t feel uncomfortable when she removed his shirt, revealing her undergarments to him, and took

III. The journey to the village was a long and quiet one for both Adamas and Roselyn. The beastman kept the hood of his cloak up, wanting the shadows to hide his face and not look at Roselyn again until they arrived at the village. Roselyn on the other hand, could tell that something was a little wrong with Adamas by the way he was hiding his face. The little space he put between himself and her was evidence of his odd behavior. She couldn’t tell what was bothering him and wanted to talk about it, but decided to remain silent for the time being. Adamas wondered how many miles were left before arriving at the village? He needed to take his mind off of Roselyn or else it’ll get even harder for him to control his urges. The scent of roses that lingered in his cloak wasn’t helping at all. Luckily, he put his worries to rest when he saw a pointed sign that said “Ackerman Town”. Although the first part of the name brought familiarity to the beastman, his eyes narrowed in confusion over the

I. The trees slightly swayed from the gentle breeze while the night remained young as the stars twinkled above. The moon was full, giving out its light beneath the forest floor. Below the forest sat a single individual with its back against the tree. Its body was covered in a crimson cloak with a hood, concealing the face and identity of the individual. Right next to this individual was a sack that had supplies and a big longsword that was sheathed. A campfire was burning in front of the cloaked individual while a pot was hung by a stick as food was being cooked from the inside. The individual watched patiently until steam started to hiss out of the pot. Bringing out a wooden ladle out of its cloak, revealing brown gloves on its hands, it lifted the pot’s lid and began stirring stew that had meat, potatoes, and carrots. Before it could have a taste, after taking a good scoop and blowing the steam a little, it heard something. Somewhere in the forest, someone was panting as it ran