⸸ ⸻ 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 among some of life's greatest pleasures. Creel's Clocks, planted on the outskirts of town, has always been neighbours with the vast forest to the West of their unassuming little village. The bracken footpaths carved out through years of explorers and stubborn dog walkers are trailed on most mornings, even when the fog is thick or rain has fallen.
He loves it. Well and truly.
This Friday morning isn't unlike any other. Henry, clad in his long flowing overcoat and boots, follows the dirt path through the trees and breathes in the fresh air with deep appreciation, a cup of coffee in hand— and then suddenly there's chaos erupting, disorder incarnate.
He takes a surprised step back as somebody barrels through the underbrush, wild-eyed and afraid. His hands immediately fly up as if to surrender, though his stance is firmly squared. He means no harm, but if they do it won't end well for them.
❛ Hey... are you okay? What's the rush? ❜
@999spider / starter call!
