Parzival spotted a labyrinth 20 leagues into the forest, and approached it[null|taking his time|making haste slowly].
The Big Thicket of Tajsha was the archetypal picture of Autumn. As far as the eye could see, it was a neverending ocean of orange, brown, and yellow. Neverending, and never exactly the same [twice]— Parzi had entered and left this forest hundreds of times in the past decade, and always had to [clear a new path|blaze a new trail] each time, overcoming new obstacles and encountering new difficulties.
The cool wind and intermittent [light] rains of the thicket had always been refreshing to Parzi, who often took refuge there during the Summers and Winters of his home in the West. As a young man he found the meteorological and geographical implications of this refuge extremely questionable at best— but like everyone else in the [world of Vaargnign|the Wanderlands], he eventually learned to [deal with|accept] it. Blazing trails through these consistently inconsistent lands, tramping for work between cities and villages, and exploring labyrinths for artefacts and tradeable goods consumed the vast majority of his time— this excursion towards a new lab was no different.
Parzi continued towards his destination with a still leisurely pace, now only 4 hours away. Although he could probably complete his journey without stopping, resting his body was of paramount importance— if his muscles or his breath faltered in the lab, he would surely die. To that end, he unceremoniously dropped from the tree he had been standing on to the floor below, confident that there was no cause for concern at his feet or at his back. He drew his tool from his side and swung it towards the ground in an arc creating a burst of wind clearing it of leaves, sticks, and other debris. One swing was sufficient to create a comfortable enough clearing. Afterwards, he drew a short stick from his purse and struck it with his tool, the stick poured out sparks as if it were made out of flint before it began to glow with an ethereal red and white sheen. This would be his source of warmth, light, and warding. Next, he gathered some soil from the ground and formed it into two small balls and concentrated his breath into them— they inflated and deformed in a cartoonish manner before ultimately settling on the form of large black birds with glowing green faces, these would be his eyes and ears as he rested. This clearing could scarcely be called a camp, but Parzival was satisfied.
Parzival committed his earthen familiars to the air and then adopted a meditative position with his back against a tree. He entered a trance with his eyes open— but they did not see in the conventional sense. While his body rested, he let the birds provide him with additional senses. Through them he plainly saw the canopy beneathe which his body knelt, and massive clouds approaching from the East. Circling his immediate surroundings, he found neither anything interesting nor threatening. He welcomed this peace for a change. As he became more relaxed and his thoughts began to turn towards the West, so too did his familiars and the view provided by them.
He saw the rust-coloured canopy suddenly shift to white with such unnatural precision that it seemed as if it were arbitrarily districted and surveyed out by men. Following the white snow-covered land West the Free City of Bidhsop soon became visible.
Pitter-patter
Mother’s Basilica and Ensiferum’s Square were both comforting sights, as was Baerhaver’s Tavern and its drunken regulars. In the residential area South of the Square he saw a young man named Olechsandr doing sword exercises by himself— thinking, “he’s a good kid, that one.” Further down the road, he spotted an older Elf joyriding in some strange machine with his wife— and thought, “Jay’s always up to something, isn’t he.”
Drip, drip.
It was likely the knowledge of these people and places alone that prevented Parzival from making his home out of a shack in the Thicket. Had he never made friends he would’ve never thought twice about taking up hermitage. Reflecting on these thoughts, Parzi lost track of time and was surprised to find that night had come and gone and it was now only a few hours before dawn, not to mention the pitter-patter he’d noticed earlier had now become a downpour. Although surprised, neither the passage of time nor the rain were unwelcome to him.
Now mentally present in himself, Parzival continued towards the labyrinth accompanied by the soft glow of his mantle and boots as the falling rain seemed to avoid him of its own volition. At this rate he’d surely make it to the entrance by sunrise.