[i]This is no Jungle.[/i]

His hand brushed the familiar roughness of a tree trunk and his bare feet trod upon the sodden detritus that littered such places, but it was not home. The trees did not huddle together so tightly, starving each other of light and stunting their growth in his homeland, they grew tall with fruit and life aplenty, they were a sight to behold. The hooded man seemed a contradiction of terms as he strolled through the forest, while he seemed suitably attired from the waist up his lower body was adorned with short pants and nothing else, suggesting he preferred a more natural style yet wished to cover his head regardless. As he walked he often knelt and examined odd plants and flowers, twisting them in the rare spots of light piercing the canopy, sometimes adding them to his belt pouch. 

Without his hood his messy dreadlocks would roll down his neck, and his greenish tinged skin and pointed ears would announce that he was not quite human, but rather a strange variant of Elf. That much was only the surface of Akael’s hidden persuasions however, for he was an Elf with many secrets, and one not all that willing to divulge those secrets and relinquish the power they gave him. He stood suddenly, deciding it was time to call it a day as he turned on his heel and began pacing through the forest more quickly, his ears alert to the sounds around him. Familiarity with the terrain, despite his misgivings, allowed him to traverse his own passage through the forested area in a pittance of time, reaching the edge in under an hour. As he reached his destination he was forced to nod towards an armed man who was shrewdly peering into the approaching darkness, and before-him was the tent village, known as the Moving and home to the resistance.