Writing screeched to a halt when I left the beach and returned to the party members who remained in the forest. Drat. Research could not be postponed any longer.
TT: Those of you following Ranunculus Turtle the Facebook Page might remember a tiny status rant that ended with the plea for death followed by the pronouncement of going to bed. Yes, I was an unhappy turtle. And that was only 5 minutes in.
Not saying the research has gone anywhere. Something in me rebels at searching. I don't care how easy Google makes it. I don't want to do it. I don't even want to look for a picture of a druidy kind of forest. Do you know how many pics of Yellowstone are on the Internet? Neither do I, but a lot. Like 10+ pages.
TT: What the heck is Morning Glory Pool anyway? What is wrong with that water? Is there glass over it? I don't understand!
I tried looking at topographical maps of Russia and Alaska and North America, which would be the closest kinds of terrain to York. I discovered I can't read topographical maps. Sorry, Dr. Iliff.
Really, the whole thing just sucks eggs.
One thing I did learn is ferns grow in Alaskan forests.
TT: Oops. Did a little rhyming there. I sometimes wonder if I have Welsh in my Scottish bloodline. I tend to alliterate like Eliza Doolittle's dad when I'm not paying attention. Odd, since I'm rhythm-deficient in other areas of my life.
Back to the ferns. The problem with having ferns in an Alaskan-type forest is the connotation of ferns with tropical jungles. The problem with the whole thing is the void of common descriptors for "forest" that lend themselves easily to melee-topography.
TT: For the non-English-speaking readers of this blog, i.e., anyone from Kansas, I'm having trouble describing the area where the fighting happens.
Yeah, yeah, this is the burden of being a writer. This is why not everyone does it (or should do it).
On a bright note, the "dense" fog lifted a bit more and I realized the natural place for Raven to live is in a tree. Duh. Druid. Tree.
Feel free to smack me the next time we meet. You'll know where to hit by the hand-shaped bruise on my forehead.