Following the ravens leads him, steadily: he's wary, and keeps his eyes open and his defenses at the ready but for now, they seem to be taking him further toward his goal. He coaxes the underbrush and tree limbs away from him with gentle intent as he pieces his way through the woods.
He feels the hedge before he sees it, a vast magical force, and when he does come up to it, he takes a moment to just stand, absorbing high twisting barbed-wire-like brambles and winding vines, eyes following.
It's not fear that makes him pause. It's respect. There's an audacity to it, throwing some fairy-tale barrier around yourself in the middle of a nominally open woods. The blatant control and power necessary to manage it. And a little bit of a sense of humor that makes him grin. He hopes the last scion of the Grimhildes isn't expecting a prince or she'll be disappointed with what she gets.
He's been around wards that block spellwork, cast so thick it's nearly painful. This barrier to him isn't friendly in the slightest, but it still feels better.
He knows there's a very real chance there's nothing friendly behind this wall, but he has to try.
Auryn doesn't have any tools except a knife, any charmed objects or the space and relative safety to cast something large. He crouches, instead, and finds the nearest evergreen he can persuade to give up one of its branches, stripping its extra growth swiftly to bare the wick wood underneath. There: a wand and a staff if he needs one. Then, he thinks.
The wall expects attack. If this is a fairy tale, or a satire of one, the obvious next step would be to start slashing away. He suspects that arrogance will get his face ripped open.
He lets down his guard, and lets himself out of his head, and calls on wisdom and strength. A light in the darkness, a map to find the way safely: he smiles when a little light illuminates an almost invisible gap in the hedge a few yards down. He puts up his hood around his face and steps in quietly, unafraid, but aware.
He makes it a little ways in in unassuming patient steps, winding and avoiding large thorns, sweet-talking the briars to let down their guard, when the whole thing shifts, snuffing his guiding little ball. It's like it's trying to shake an itch, vines writhing at his face, and he throws the staff forward to give himself room, blasting the attacking thorns into frozen char. Respect he might have for this, but not stupidity. If this place wants to fight him, Auryn is perfectly capable of giving no quarter.
He lifts the staff and this time it's fire he calls ahead of him.
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He feels the hedge before he sees it, a vast magical force, and when he does come up to it, he takes a moment to just stand, absorbing high twisting barbed-wire-like brambles and winding vines, eyes following.
It's not fear that makes him pause. It's respect. There's an audacity to it, throwing some fairy-tale barrier around yourself in the middle of a nominally open woods. The blatant control and power necessary to manage it. And a little bit of a sense of humor that makes him grin. He hopes the last scion of the Grimhildes isn't expecting a prince or she'll be disappointed with what she gets.
He's been around wards that block spellwork, cast so thick it's nearly painful. This barrier to him isn't friendly in the slightest, but it still feels better.
He knows there's a very real chance there's nothing friendly behind this wall, but he has to try.
Auryn doesn't have any tools except a knife, any charmed objects or the space and relative safety to cast something large. He crouches, instead, and finds the nearest evergreen he can persuade to give up one of its branches, stripping its extra growth swiftly to bare the wick wood underneath. There: a wand and a staff if he needs one. Then, he thinks.
The wall expects attack. If this is a fairy tale, or a satire of one, the obvious next step would be to start slashing away. He suspects that arrogance will get his face ripped open.
He lets down his guard, and lets himself out of his head, and calls on wisdom and strength. A light in the darkness, a map to find the way safely: he smiles when a little light illuminates an almost invisible gap in the hedge a few yards down. He puts up his hood around his face and steps in quietly, unafraid, but aware.
He makes it a little ways in in unassuming patient steps, winding and avoiding large thorns, sweet-talking the briars to let down their guard, when the whole thing shifts, snuffing his guiding little ball. It's like it's trying to shake an itch, vines writhing at his face, and he throws the staff forward to give himself room, blasting the attacking thorns into frozen char. Respect he might have for this, but not stupidity. If this place wants to fight him, Auryn is perfectly capable of giving no quarter.
He lifts the staff and this time it's fire he calls ahead of him.