A hedgeling of the Reach

Sturgis came from humble stock: god-fearing farmers who had worked the fertile land of the Reach for millennia.

They weren't oppressed labourers; his people shared a symbiotic bond with the earth that they cultivated.

Sturgis however, although having the same unbreakable bond with the land, never quite felt that the path his forefathers took would be his own. There was always a nagging anxiety he felt when he was around other people. He loved his family of course, but he was truly at peace when enveloped by the solace of the wild.

Every spare hour he had, he would venture into the forests of the Reach. Never with a direction, never with a purpose. Always with a longing, but for what?

It constantly landed him in hot water with friends and family. The forests of the Reach were an impenetrable canopy, with many dangers. One of which was a legend, that the forest of the reach was the ancestral home of werewolves. A myth or was their truth in the fables?

He would get lectured : 'you'll get lost', 'you won't find your way back', 'why do you put your family through the worry!?'. They didn't understand though, and he could not explain it to them. He always made his way home through an innate ability to tackle one of the most dangerous terrains of the world.

'It's almost a miracle,' someone quipped when he returned time and time again.

' It's almost magical' another added...

To be continued...

Entered by: 0x946a…042D and preserved on chain (see transaction)