The forest was awake long before the sun reached the canopy.
Durn had been walking since first light, following a narrow game trail that wound through the ancient woods of Feralas. Moss covered the roots beneath his feet, and every branch seemed to carry another shade of green. Somewhere above, unseen birds argued over territory while insects hummed in the warm morning air.
He smiled.
The forest sounded as it should.
He stopped beside a small stream and knelt without a word. The water ran clear over smooth stones. Fresh hoofprints marked the muddy bank where deer had crossed not long ago, and a family of quail disappeared into the undergrowth as he approached.
Nothing unusual.
Exactly as it should be.
Durn cupped the water in his hands and drank.
Cool.
Clean.
Alive.
He remained there for several minutes, listening more than looking.
Most travelers filled silence with thoughts of where they were going next.
Durn listened to the spaces between sounds.
The rush of water.
The wind high in the leaves.
The distant call of a hawk.
The quiet rustling of countless small lives hidden beneath ferns and fallen branches.
Every forest had its own rhythm.
Not always the same.
Never perfectly still.
But always balanced.
By midday he had crossed the stream twice, gathered a handful of herbs for the journey ahead, and watched a pair of stags settle a dispute that ended with little more than bruised pride.
He made no attempt to interfere.
Nature rarely needed help solving its own arguments.
As evening approached, Durn climbed onto a weathered rock overlooking the valley.
The setting sun painted the treetops in gold.
Below him, the forest stretched farther than the eye could follow.
Peaceful.
Ancient.
Breathing.
He closed his eyes.
For today…
everything felt right.
Tomorrow, he would continue north.
Part 2 of 9
The Forest Breathes
Durn is introduced through his connection with the natural world. He observes the forest in its natural balance, showing that he seeks understanding rather than problems.