Chapter Text
Pain arrived before consciousness.
It seeped in slowly, like an unwelcome guest that refused to knock, aching, throbbing, pulsing through every inch of Rengoku Kyojuro’s body. It felt as though he had been struck by a train again.
No. worse. The pain was deeper now, settled into bone and muscle, sharp in some places and dull in others, like his body couldn’t decide how to complain.
His chest hurt the most. Every breath felt heavy, like his lungs were wrapped in iron bands. Broken ribs. he knew that pain well enough, unfortunately. They protested with every inhale, sending warning flares through his torso. His arms felt stiff and bruised, his legs weak and numb, as if they belonged to someone else entirely.
And then there was his face. Something was… wrong.
Rengoku’s brow furrowed slightly as he drifted closer to wakefulness. The world was dark. but not in the way sleep usually was. When he tried to open his eyes, only one responded.
The other was gone.
That realization hit him all at once, and his heart jolted violently in his chest.
His remaining eye flew open, blazing gold-red, immediately overwhelmed by soft light and white fabric. The ceiling above him was unfamiliar, wooden beams, gently curved, with hanging wisteria charms swaying ever so slightly in a breeze he couldn’t feel.
Butterfly Estate.
The scent reached him next: medicinal herbs, clean linen, crushed flowers, and something faintly bitter. His nose twitched. Yes. Definitely the Butterfly Estate.
“I’m… Alive?” he rasped, his voice hoarse and cracked like it hadn’t been used in weeks.
Speaking hurt.
Breathing hurt.
Existing hurt.
But he was alive.
Memories came crashing down like a tidal wave.
The train.
Enmu. (forgot his ranking or title sorryyyy)
Victory.
Akaza...
That name echoed in his mind like thunder.
The Upper Moon demon’s smile. His fists. The way the night had shattered under the force of their blows. Fire and destruction, clashing ideals, blood on snow. The moment of impact, when pain had exploded across his face, white-hot and blinding.
Rengoku swallowed hard, his throat dry. “Ah… So he took my sight,” he whispered, surprisingly calm. “A fair trade, I suppose.”
He tried to sit up. That was a mistake. Pain screamed through his ribs, sharp and merciless, and he let out an undignified wheeze as he collapsed back into the bed, sheets rustling. His remaining eye watered from the sudden agony.
“Oh no you don’t.” a familiar, cool voice cut through the haze.
Rengoku turned his head slightly and spotted Kocho Shinobu standing at the side of his bed, arms crossed, purple eyes sharp and glinting with both relief and menace. She wore her usual Demon Slayer uniform beneath her butterfly-patterned haori, pristine as ever, though there were dark circles under her eyes that suggested she hadn’t slept much.
“Shinobu!” Rengoku boomed reflexively, then immediately regretted it as his ribs protested again. “Good morning! Or… Afternoon?”
Shinobu smiled sweetly. That was never a good sign. “You’ve been unconscious for nearly two months,” she said lightly. “You lost an eye, suffered multiple broken ribs, internal bleeding, severe muscle damage, and blood loss that frankly should have killed you.”
She leaned closer, smile sharpening. “An to answer your next question, no, you may not start training.”
Rengoku laughed, a bright, booming sound that turned into a cough halfway through. “That cant be right, my friend. I feel wonderful! Truly! My body burns with the desire to move!”
“That’s inflammation,” Shinobu replied flatly.
Before Rengoku could argue further, the room exploded. The sliding doors were thrown open with such force that the wisteria charms rattled violently, and suddenly the quiet estate was anything but.
“RENGOKU!” Mitsuri was the first through the door. She was a whirlwind of pink and green, her long braids flying behind her, eyes already swimming with tears. “YOU’RE AWAKE YOU’RE ALIVE I MISSED YOU SO MUCH!”
“MITSURI, WAIT!”
Too late. She threw her arms around him in a bone-crushing hug, sobbing openly into his chest. Rengoku let out a strangled noise as pain lanced through his ribs like lightning, But he hugged her back anyway. he smiled warmly, one arm wrapping around her shoulders as best as he could. “I’m sorry to worry you...”
“Oh my god, your ribs!” Mitsuri squeaked suddenly, pulling back in horror. “I’M SO SORRY I FORGOT!”
“Hahaha! It’s quite alright!” Rengoku declared, despite the fact that Shinobu was now glaring at both of them with murder in her eyes. “Your strength is admirable!”
More footsteps followed.
“Oi. You’re loud even half-dead,” Sanemi muttered from the doorway, arms crossed, scars standing out starkly against his skin. His expression was its usual scowl—but his eyes softened, just a fraction, when they landed on Rengoku. “Don’t scare us like that again.”
Behind him stood Giyu Tomioka, silent as ever. His mismatched haori hung loosely from his shoulders, and his blue eyes widened ever so slightly upon seeing Rengoku awake. He didn’t say anything, he rarely did, but he stepped forward and gave a small, stiff nod.
That alone was monumental.
Tengen appeared next, dramatically leaning against the doorframe. “About damn time, Flame Hashira,” he rolled his eyes with a grin. “You really stole the spotlight, you know that? Nearly dying so unflashily.”
Even Gyomei knelt just outside the room, hands clasped in prayer, tears streaming freely down his face. “Thank goodness… Truly a miracle… Praise be…”
Obanai lingered near Mitsuri, visibly tense, but even he allowed himself a small exhale of relief. One by one, they filled the room, voices overlapping, emotions spilling everywhere. Relief, joy, anger, gratitude. Love.
The Butterfly Estate was unusually peaceful that afternoon.
Sunlight filtered through thin paper windows, painting the wooden floors in warm gold and soft amber. Outside, wisteria vines swayed gently, their lavender blossoms drifting lazily through the air like confetti thrown by the wind itself. Somewhere in the distance, a cicada sang, persistent, loud, unapologetically alive.
Rengoku Kyojuro lay in his futon, staring at the ceiling with intense concentration. “…If I roll onto my side very slowly...” he muttered, brows knitting together. “Perhaps Shinobu will not notice.”
He shifted exactly one inch. Pain bloomed immediately in his ribs, sharp and decisive. “…Nevermind.” he said calmly, relaxing back into the pillows. “The ribs have noticed.”
He exhaled through his nose, lips twitching despite himself. It was frustrating, agonizing, really, to be confined to a bed while his body screamed at him to move. But beneath the frustration was something warmer. Gratitude. A quiet awareness that he had been given something rare.
Time.
The room itself was bright and airy, decorated with delicate butterfly motifs. Pale purple curtains fluttered slightly near the open window. His uniform had been replaced with loose, soft cotton robes in shades of cream and orange, clearly chosen with his flame motif in mind. His haori rested neatly folded nearby, flames stitched carefully along the hem, waiting for the day he could wear it again.
A bandage covered the left side of his face, clean and meticulously wrapped. He hadn’t asked for a mirror yet. He knew what he would find, and for now, that knowledge was enough.
The door slid open quietly.
Shinobu entered, carrying a tray stacked with medicine bottles and folded cloths. She wore a light lavender haori today, sleeves tied back for practicality. Her expression was sharp but tired, like someone who had spent weeks arguing with fate and barely won.
She stopped the moment she saw Rengoku watching the ceiling like it had personally offended him. “You’re thinking about training again, aren’t you?” she asked simply, but dangerously.
Rengoku smiled sheepishly. “I was merely contemplating… Breathing exercises.”
Shinobu’s eye twitched. She turned back to Rengoku, hands on her hips. “You are not leaving this bed,” her tone was neutral, but her dead eyes betrayed her. “You are not training. You are not sneaking out. You are not swinging swords, or ‘just stretching a little.’ Your ribs are healing, your internal organs are still fragile, and if you push yourself, I will personally sedate you.”
Rengoku blinked. “That seems excessive.”
Shinobu smiled widly. “I have a lot of medical knowledge. Dont forget that.”
“…Point taken.”
She softened slightly, checking his bandages with careful fingers. “Everyone is worried about you.” she added quietly. “So try not to scare us again.”
Rengoku’s expression gentled. “I will do my best.” he promised sincerely.
Not ten minutes after Shinobu left, the peace shattered spectacularly ywt again. The door burst open, and Tengen Uzui strode in like he owned the place, arms spread wide, jeweled headband glittering obnoxiously in the sunlight.
And qho else it might be... The cerzain someone even brought a company to lift hus friends mood. Behind him came three women, each as striking as the next.
Makio burst in first, hands on her hips, short hair tied back practically.
Suma followed, eyes already filling with tears. “We thought you were dead! I cried for days!”
“And you still owe us dinner...” Hinatsuru added calmly, smiling softly as she stepped inside. She wore a pale blue kimono today, elegant and understated.
(i aint gonna lie, idk whose who)
Rengoku laughed, a warm, genuine sound. “It is wonderful to see all of you alive and well!”
Makio leaned closer, eyeing his bandages. “Damn. You really went all out, didn’t you?”
“I had a worthy opponent,” Rengoku replied thoughtfully. “Though I admit… I pushed myself too far.”
Uzui plopped down dramatically beside the futon. “You missed a lot...” he said. “Hashira meetings. Strategy arguments... Shitarizawa yelling at everyone. Very unflashy.”
Hinatsuru knelt beside Rengoku. “Tanjiro and the others have returned to missions as well...” she nodded. “They were relieved to hear you not only survived, but are also recovering well.. Hope you dont mind we told them on your behalf.”
Rengoku smiled fondly. “Not at all, And thank you. They have strong hearts. You all have”
Suma sniffled. “They wanted to visit but Shinobu scared them away!”
Uzui snorted. “She threatened to poison them.”
Rengoku hummed. “A reasonable deterrent. I suppose I was nowhere near visitations week ago.”
The group laughed.
Uzui leaned back, arms crossed. “You know, when they brought you in, I thought...” he paused, gaze drifting away for just a second. “I thought we lost you.”
Rengoku studied him quietly. “You didn’t,” he managed to say. “Though I appreciate the concern.”
Makio scoffed. “Don’t let it go to your head. We just didn’t want to deal with your funeral.”
Rengoku chuckled, then winced slightly. He pressed a hand to his ribs. Uzui noticed immediately. “Hey. Easy.”
Rengoku exhaled slowly. “I hate feeling useless...” he admitted, voice softer. “But I suppose… This is also part of strength. Knowing when to rest.”
Uzui grinned. “Look at you. Growing wiser.”
“Pain has a way of encouraging reflection,” Rengoku replied.
Makio smirked. “You sound like an old man.”
“I am twenty!” Rengoku protested.
They stayed for a while, filling the room with chatter and warmth. Uzui updated him on patrol rotations, demon sightings, Shinobu’s increasingly terrifying protectivness over him. The wives teased him relentlessly, bringing snacks from the market nearby and adjusting his pillows without asking.
For the first time since waking, Rengoku felt… Normal.
Alive.
As the sun dipped lower, painting the estate in hues of orange and violet, Uzui stood. “We’ll come back.” he promised. “Once you’re less breakable.”
Rengoku laughed. “I look forward to it.”
Night settled over the Butterfly Estate like a careful blanket.
The day’s warmth faded into a cool, soothing breeze that slipped through open windows, carrying the scent of wisteria and night-blooming flowers. Paper lanterns glowed softly along the wooden walkways outside, their amber light reflecting faintly on polished floors. Crickets sang in rhythmic harmony, and somewhere, water trickled gently from a garden fountain.
Rengoku Kyojuro sat upright in his futon, back supported by neatly stacked pillows.
He wore a loose, dark-orange yukata patterned faintly with maple leaves, comfortable, light, and warm enough for the night air. His hair had been loosely tied back, wild flame-like strands escaping to frame his face. The bandage over his left eye was fresh, clean, and carefully wrapped. In the dim light, his remaining eye glowed softly, thoughtful rather than fierce.
On the low table in front of him lay a sheet of fine paper, a brush, and a small inkstone.
And perched proudly beside it was his crow.
The bird tilted its head, glossy black feathers catching the lantern light, eyes sharp and intelligent.
“You’ve been very patient,” Rengoku said, smiling as he reached out to gently stroke the crow’s head. “Thank you for staying with me.”
The crow let out a pleased caw and leaned into his touch, clearly enjoying the attention.
Rengoku dipped his brush into the ink, steadying his breathing. Writing hurt less than moving—though even this required careful control to avoid straining his ribs. He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts, then began.
He had no idea writing withh only one eye remaining would be this hard... But again, his vision shifted after all, he just had to get used to it.
He wrote.
To my beloved brother, Senjuro.
His brush glided smoothly across the paper.
I am awake. I am safe. And most importantly, I am alive.
He smiled faintly as he wrote, imagining Senjuro’s worried face, the way his younger brother always tried so hard to be brave while quietly falling apart.
I apologize deeply for worrying you. I know you must have been frightened, but please, do not panic. I am being cared for by excellent doctors, and I am healing well.
The crow shifted closer, peering at the paper as if trying to read along. “I promise, I’m being honest,” Rengoku told it quietly. “No exaggeration.” the crow cawed skeptically. Rengoku chuckled under his breath and continued.
I lost an eye in battle, but do not be alarmed. It does not hinder my spirit, and I am still very much myself. My ribs are broken, but they are healing, and I am under strict orders to rest.
He paused, tapping the brush lightly against the inkstone.
Please do not feel the need to rush here. There is no need for you to see me like this, and I do not wish to worry you further. Focus on your studies. Grow strong in your own way. That alone brings me great pride.
The lantern outside flickered. Rengoku’s hand stilled. His remaining eye lifted slowly toward the window. For just a moment. he was sure of it. there had been a shape. A shadow standing where the garden path met the trees.
Tall.
Still.
Watching.
His heart skipped.
He stared for several seconds.
Nothing.
The garden was empty, bathed in moonlight and lantern glow. Wisteria vines curled peacefully around wooden posts. No movement. No malice. Rengoku exhaled softly through his nose. “My imagination is getting ahead of me.
Still, his shoulders remained tense as he returned to the letter.
Another sound...
This time, the sound came from behind him.
A soft tap on the wall.
Rengoku froze.
The crow fluffed its feathers, letting out a low warning caw.
Slowly, very slowly, Rengoku turned his head. Yet... The room was still empty. The paper screens were closed. Shadows pooled gently in the corners, cast by lantern light. His haori hung neatly on a stand, unmoving.
He stared for a long moment.
Then he laughed quietly. “I am becoming paranoid,” he admitted. “Understandable, perhaps, but unbecoming all the same.”
The crow clicked its beak in agreement, or judgment. Rengoku returned to writing, though now he found himself glancing up every few lines.
I will return home once I am fully healed. Until then, know that I carry our family’s values with me always. And know that i think of you all the time and mourn the time we couldve have together in safer world.
The brush trembled slightly.
Not from pain.
From memory.
Fire.
A demon’s smile.
Akaza.
Rengoku’s jaw tightened. His mind betrayed him, conjuring images unbidden, fists crashing down, laughter echoing in the dark, the sensation of being watched.
What if he came back?
What if the demon sensed his weakness?
Rengoku swallowed, forcing his breathing to steady.
Please take care of yourself. Eat well. Sleep properly. And remember, you are never alone. I will always protect you.
Another flicker outside.
Rengoku’s head snapped up.
This time, there was nothing at all. Not even a shadow. He sighed, rubbing his temple. “Enough,” he told himself firmly. “Fear does not suit me.” He finished the letter quickly.
With love and unwavering pride,
Your brother,
Kyojuro
He set the brush down and gently blew on the ink to dry it. The crow hopped closer, peering at the finished letter before puffing its chest proudly. “Yes, yes,” Rengoku said softly, petting it again. “You’ll deliver it in the morning.”
The crow cawed decisively, as if swearing an oath. Rengoku folded the letter carefully and placed it on the table. The room felt quieter now.
Too quiet.
He lay back slowly, careful of his ribs, pulling the blankets up to his chest. He stared at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the night, the wind, the insects, the distant footsteps of estate guards.
Still, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from circling.
What if Akaza had come to finish what he started?
What if the demon stood just beyond the wisteria, waiting?
Rengoku closed his eye, forcing the thoughts away. “I am safe,” he whispered. “I survived once. I will survive again.”
The crow settled beside him, a warm, solid presence. Eventually, sleep claimed them both.
The night deepened.
Moonlight spilled across the Butterfly Estate in silver ribbons, slipping through wisteria branches and tracing pale lines along the rooftops. Lanterns had dimmed, most extinguished entirely, leaving only a handful glowing faintly like watchful fireflies. The estate breathed in its sleep, quiet footsteps of guards, the rustle of leaves, the soft creak of wood cooling under the stars.
And somehow, no one noticed when the window slid open.
Not a sound.
No creak. No rush of air. No scream of alarm.
The window simply… Opened.
(for now fanfic logic, ill think of a reason later, trustttt)
Akaza stepped inside.
He moved like a shadow given shape, bare feet touching the wooden floor without so much as a whisper. Moonlight traced the markings along his skin. deep blue lines like living tattoos, glowing faintly against his pale form. His hair, short and wild, caught the light like frost. He wore no disguise, no cloak. He had not bothered.
He tilted his head slightly, listening. Nothing. No rushing footsteps. No weapons drawn. No angry Hashira bursting through walls. “…Hmph,” he smirked, but it did not reach his eyes. “Pathetic security.”
He turned his attention to the bed. Rengoku Kyojuro slept there, utterly unaware.
Akaza froze. He had expected many things. Anger. Defiance. A sudden burst of flame and a sword flying toward his neck. Maybe even the man waking mid-breath, golden eye blazing with that infuriating, indomitable spirit.
Instead...
Rengoku was asleep.
Properly asleep.
Mouth slightly parted. Brows relaxed. One arm resting loosely atop the blanket, bandaged and bruised. His chest rose and fell slowly, carefully, like each breath had been negotiated with pain and reluctantly approved.
“…You’re kidding,” Akaza whispered. He didnt even sense his presence? How weak was he right now?
He stepped closer, slow and cautious despite himself.
The room smelled faintly of medicine, clean cotton, and wisteria. A soft lantern glowed near the wall, casting warm light over the futon. Rengoku wore a loose orange yukata, collar slightly open, revealing bandages wrapped firmly around his torso. His flame-colored hair spilled messily over the pillow, no longer wild and proud, just… Soft. So soft. For a second Akaza wondered how it would feel, if...
Akaza stared.
Mp. this was wrong...
Where was the fire?
Where was the impossible human who had laughed in the face of death and refused to kneel?
His gaze drifted to the bandage over Rengoku’s left eye. He crouched beside the bed, frowning. Even without his eye he was still beautiful. Broken ribs. Healing bruises. A faint scar near the jawline. His breathing hitched slightly every now and then, like even unconsciousness couldn’t fully escape the pain.
Akaza scowled. “…You look terrible.”
Rengoku did not leap up to argue. Akaza waited. Nothing happened. He leaned closer, squinting. “…You’re not even pretending?”
Still nothing.
A long, awkward silence stretched between demon and sleeping Hashira.
“…Hah.”
Akaza leaned back on his heels, arms crossing. “So that’s it,” he aighed, to his own confusion. “You don’t just… Get up. Right... Fragile human body.” he stared at the ceiling, visibly annoyed. “Unbelievable. Humans break once and suddenly they need weeks. Months. Ridiculous.”
He glanced back down at Rengoku, eyes narrowing.
“…And you were so loud about it, too.”
Rengoku shifted slightly in his sleep, brow furrowing as if caught in an unpleasant dream. Akaza stiffened instantly, muscles tensing. “…Don’t.” he warned under his breath, suddenly realizing that coming here might be a mistake.
Rengoku exhaled, rolled his head a fraction to the side, and settled again.
Akaza stared. Then, against his will, his shoulders relaxed. “…Tch.”
He looked away, jaw tight. “Stupid.” he said sharply. “Pathetic. That’s what you are.”
He paused.
“…So why are you still breathing?”
The thought irritated him more than it should have. He rose quietly, pacing the small room with restless steps. His eyes caught on the low table beside the bed. A folded letter lay there.
Neatly written. Carefully placed. Weighted with a small stone.
Akaza stopped.
He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. The paper was warm, still faintly carrying the scent of ink and human touch. The handwriting was bold and confident, every stroke deliberate. He glanced back at Rengoku’s sleeping form. “…Even broken, you’re sentimental.”
Akaza hesitated. He didn’t read it. Not yet... But his curiosity rose. He clicked his tongue again, this time at himself. “Disgusting.”
He folded it once more and slipped it into his sleeve. Consider this payment,” he muttered. “For wasting my time.”
Behind him, Rengoku shifted again. Akaza froze for the second time that night. Did he even want to face him? Rengoku’s remaining eye fluttered beneath his lashes, brow creasing. His lips moved slightly.
For a moment, just a moment, he considered waking him. Just to see. Just to prove something. But his gaze drifted again to the bandages. To the careful way Rengoku’s chest rose and fell.
And something twisted unpleasantly in his gut.
He turned away sharply.
“Rest,” he muttered, as if annoyed by the very idea. “Heal. Then we’ll see.”
He stepped back toward the window, pausing once more to glance over his shoulder. Akaza slipped out as silently as he had arrived, the window closing behind him without a sound.
The estate remained undisturbed.
Moonlight spilled through towering cedar branches, silvering the moss-covered roots and turning drifting mist into something almost luminous. Crickets chirped loudly, frogs croaked near a distant stream, and the air carried the cool scent of damp earth and wisteria lingering faintly on the wind.
Akaza stood beneath the trees, arms crossed, staring down at the letter in his hands like it had personally insulted him. “…Why...” he drowled, glaring at it. “Why did I take this.”
The paper was unassuming. Clean. Carefully folded. Warm from being tucked into his sleeve. It looked important. Worse, it felt important.
Akaza scoffed and unfolded it. “I don’t even care.” he told the empty forest defensively, as if the trees might accuse him of something.
The moonlight illuminated the ink.
His eyes scanned the words despite himself. Akaza’s brow twitched. He read on.
The further he went, the more his irritation shifted into something deeply uncomfortable. Rengoku’s words were earnest, warm, full of reassurance and pride. There was no bitterness. No fear. Not even anger at the injuries he’d suffered.
Just concern. Just love.
Akaza hissed, folding the letter slightly too tightly before forcing himself to relax his grip. “Disgusting.”
But his eyes drifted back to the page anyway.
The mention of a younger brother made something twist sharply in his chest.
Please do not panic.
Grow strong in your own way.
Akaza clicked his tongue and looked away, jaw clenched.
“So you’re that kind of person,” he looked at the moon. “Even broken, you’re worried about everyone else.”
The moon peeked through the clouds then, full and brilliant, hanging high above the treetops. Its pale glow bathed the forest in quiet clarity.
He looked back at the letter. Then, with visible irritation, he refolded it neatly. “…Fine,” he snapped. “Fine.”
He shoved it back into his sleeve and straightened. “I’ll deliver it.”
The word tasted strange. Deliver. He immediately grimaced. “What am I doing?” he demanded of the forest. “I don’t deliver letters. I destroy villages.”
The forest, wisely, did not answer. Akaza started walking. Running. He moved swiftly, silently, irritation rolling off him in waves. Every step closer to the estate made his scowl deepen.
“I’m not worried about getting caught,” he thought to himself. “I’m strong. Stronger than all of them.”
He paused.
“…So why do I feel ridiculous.”
The air here felt different. Peaceful. Annoyingly so. Akaza grimaced. “This place is unbearable.”
He circled around the outer edge, avoiding patrols with ease, until he reached the side entrance. a small wooden door. He crouched, slid the letter from his sleeve, and carefully placed it against the doorframe, weighted by a smooth stone from the garden.
“There,” he muttered. “Done.”
He straightened quickly, as if the act itself might burn him.
A figure stood several paces away, swaying slightly under the moonlight.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Wild flame-colored hair.
Akaza’s muscles tensed instantly. But then he paused. The scent hit him next.
Alcohol.
Strong. Bitter. Stale.
The man wore a disheveled haori, once white but now yellowed and wrinkled, hanging loosely over a rumpled kimono. His posture was sloppy, unbalanced. His hair, once probably impressive, was unkempt and dull.
Akaza’s eyes narrowed. “…You share his face,” he thought slowly. Recognition dawned reluctantly. Akaza felt something cold settle in his chest. This man, this broken, reeking shell, was the father of the flame that had nearly burned him to ash.
“…Pathetic,” Akaza said quietly.
Shinjuro didn’t hear him. He turned away unsteadily, muttering to himself as he stumbled back toward the estate. Akaza watched him go, fists clenched.
“…So that’s it,” he muttered. “That’s what you come from.” his gaze flicked toward the sleeping estate. “…And you still turned out like that.”
The thought unsettled him deeply. He stepped back into the shadows, disgust curling in his stomach. “Humans,” he snapped. “Always disappointing.”
Yet his eyes lingered on the door where he’d left the letter. “…Except you,” he added quietly, before vanishing into the forest.