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Chapter 95: Two Dys To The Annual Rite
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... orest," Sol repeated softly, testing the weight of the words on his tongue. In tribal language it means devouring, endlessly green which seems quite fitting for the forest he had seen from afar.
"Yeah, nasty place," Taru shuddered, oblivious to the cold calculation in Sol’s eyes. "Thick canopy, lots of ravines. Perfect for getting lost or... well, eaten." He looked at Sol with a sympathetic grimace. "Honestly, Sol, maybe it’s better you don’t go. You know, with your... constitution. Just ...
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