"I feel so exposed," I admit softly, casting my head around to make out any signs of potential civilisation or disturbance in the undergrowth that would indicate some form of temporary inhabitancies, keen to keep some form of conversation persisting between us for fear of being consumed by the trepidation welling inside my soul and the horror at what I might begin to hear in the dead silence of the forest. Ithuriel's answer shares the same sort of nervous vigour:
I know what you mean. Everything is so dark I feel like I could be jumped at from any angle. I don't know why anyone in exile would choose to live in such a desolate and grim place, but I suppose at least it keeps visitors away. At least, the kind of visitors that would be aware of the prince on your head.
