Jeron almost wanted to laugh; for once, his panic stemmed from something other than the echo of angry shouts in the distance, the cacophony of frenzied dogs on the hunt, or the harsh jeers for his blood.

[i]He wished he could sink into the tree that he clung to, for his skin to turn to wood and bark, for leaves to sprout in place of his hair, for him, at the tender age of 12 years, to become inconspicuous, ordinary amongst ordinary trees. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut and bit down hard on his bottom lip while perched on a high branch, hoping that by not seeing the mob search for him, they would not see him. He could hear their angry shouts and the erratic beat of several footsteps on the forest floor. He could feel the heat of torch fires beneath him. He could smell their fear, their anger, their maniacal elation. His own terror threatened to loosen his grip on the tree, to tip his balance, to make him fall. He fought against it with nothing more than the meager will to see another sunrise.[/i]

No one was after him at this moment. No one wanted his blood. He was so lost that he doubted anyone could find him. Lost. He was panicking because he was lost, such a petty thing, almost amusing, except he didn’t want to die here, not when he had so much left to accomplish; getting lost in [i]these[/i] woods was certainly something to take very seriously.

Funny that he came to the Aberlynn forest of all places unarmed.

A sudden voice tore through the silence, and Jeron nearly jumped out of his skin as he whirled around towards the source of the noise. One hand flew instinctively to his face, assuring himself that all parts of his body were covered, that none of his moon-white hair peeked through the cowl. His other hand moved to his hip where the tip of his sword ought to be, grasping at nothing instead. Of course. What a fool he was!

Except he did not face a mob or an armed soldier. A woman stood before him instead, completely nonthreatening in her cumbersome attire and her basket of whatever. This did not make Jeron any less tense. Women had screeching power—this creature could run off into the woods, squawk his presence to everyone, throw him into certain danger. He needed to silence her before she could make a peep, but he had no damn [i]sword[/i]--!

Only then did her words finally register, fear transforming to mild disbelief. Was she chastising him for entering the forest? No one ever took the time to chastise him for anything! He realized that she regarded him with…annoyance?

She obviously did not know what he was. 

Not sure how to properly react to this woman, Jeron decided to follow instinct for the time being.

“Nothing says—“ He cleared his throat, croaky from lack of speaking, and tried again. “Nothing says I cannot enter this forest,” he snapped. “Whatever lurks in here is far less dangerous than anything that lives out there.” He pointed in the direction of what he once believed to be the edge of the forest. “Now leave me be!”