Treading into the thick line of the forest, we leave civilization as we know it behind us for many leagues before finally arriving with the next member of our humble abode. At first, we hear not a whisper in the sanctity of the woods' silence. With the night drawing in, the stars begin to glisten in the sky with numbers greater than we could ever imagine; soon after, the bite of the cool autumn breeze carries with it the hint of a sound to break the stillness in the air. A dull thud, the sound of an axe dividing wood, and the inviting scent of burning leaves leads us into a small clearing. There, built by the rough, but gentle hands of its owner is a wooden cabin, and outside of it stands our Inumori. Hefting a woodcutting axe over his shoulder whose handle has been worn smooth by many years of use, he graciously invites us inward into his home.
Within it we find a crackling fire heating the humble, but comfortable home within it's cast iron prison. Lit by mere candlelight, the eyes of a bear-skin rug seem to glisten as he dusts his hands off against his red and black flannel shirt before sitting and pouring a warm pitcher of mead for each of his guests. With enrapturing eyes that portray a wisdom far greater than his years would state, he begins to tell us his tale. There, as we sit and converse, he tells us of life and what he believes is the meaning of it, love, and loves lost. Yet there is a hint of peculiar magic in this home, the magic that is within nature and all things itself that he lives consciously beside, as a simple pencil marks his words down upon a roughly paged journal for all of us to partake in his wisdom with.
Sign In
Create Account
Back to top
