The nights here are cold.
Fire never worked; too busy with their own dramas. The one he started a few hours ago decided to keep its warmth to itself, the little anarchic mole. Instead, it taunted him with cold tongues and what he’s sure it thought was a seductive sway.

Disgusted and shivering, he glanced away, only to see his shadow conversing with some rogue hiding behind some tree. He yanked it back, and gave it a good scold. Shadows in the forest should not be trusted, he growled, and the child mumbled sorry, and, without second thought, approached the fire.

He yanked it back again, cursing the night that gave it its restlessness.
The night cursed him back, so he snapped at it again.
“Ice Wench.”
Miniscule Mote.
“Crazy Lunatic.”
Ungrateful Biote.
And so it went til the sun braved this side again, and urged him to continue on with his search.

He grabbed the lantern and, looking back at the dying flame, made a note to renew his Entropy papers when he reaches Singayn. Buy some shadow sedatives too.