Far beyond the seething seas, lies a place of verdant wonder: The Willowing Woods. Here, you'll encounter all sorts of creatures, each with their own stories to tell. Venture into the Ever-Verdant Grove to hear a story of long-sought friendship. Tre...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
A hushful breeze sweeps the land dabbled in persimmon fecundity as the jagged stone ruins rest upon the desolate lands; to which resides the Scarlet Brushwoods. Northwest of The Woods, it peacefully resides within, whilst seemingly devoid of life. How they came to be remains a mystery. Perhaps the remains of an ancient civilization? Perhaps the byproduct of a cataclysmic war of yore? One cannot be sure, but that is a tale for another time.
Though so, it hadn't been completely empty, for in there dwelled a Hootibeak; blistering critters of avian descent. Bright brown feathers dabbed in streaks of ethereal dandelion, with eyes that stretch far beyond the sea. They bore flinty talons and sky-swift beaks. Though clement creatures they are, they bear the gift of unleashing forth sonic squalls. A single cry from a fully-grown Hootibeak could uproot a quarter of the Brushwood's trees, and send forth the lands to fearfully quiver. This one was of young age, but of exemplary skill. Not much is known about what happened to the rest of them; perhaps they were simply lost to time.
The young Hootibeak was of swift and dashing skill, and so it lived its life exemplarily; mundane, but exemplary. Its wings and sights have been tempered and tampered throughout its life. It would soar above the heaven's reach to witness the ocean of vermillion pines resting below, as it would sharply descend to the Brushwoods and drift past & through the trees and pillars. The barren lands of autumn-hue had mostly belonged to itself, and it has spent its entire life venturing through every crack and corner it may find.
Such agility and swiftness allowed it to penetrate itself through the narrowest openings of the trunks like a bullet without an impasse, stoop down the lowest spaces trotted out by the logs and caverns, hang lowest over the serpentine rivers as the waters lash through from the sides of its wings, and even whirl around every nook and cranny of the lands. It blazed through the Brushwoods like a turbulent gust in a storm of calamity.
Imbued with the blessing of echoing dissonance, it would spend day after day lingering around the earthen remnants that forever slumbered throughout the Brushwoods, only to shrill at them to test its mettle. Deafening squalls hammered and chiseled through relentlessly, as they cracked and weathered by a sonorous force; it'd only been able to do so much. Critters from beneath had been brought forth by the cacophonous cries; usually the common Linklebug and Slithersquirm. All were but prey to the young speedster, as it swooped in and seized forth its snack of the day. To be fair, it's for survival, not for sport.
One fine lofty day, the Hootibeak had set out into the distant reaches of the Brushwoods to scout out for more sustenance. After all, one could not be of maximum efficiency on an empty stomach. It soared over to a robustly resting pine, where it saw and scavenged bountifully-grown Nittleberries. They were to be crushed and squeezed to dispose of their chunky seeds and to extract forth the sappy nectar it possesses. Its sweetness would vitalize the Hootibeak's avid adrenaline by a thundering ten-fold.
