Two months had passed now, and Skellington, exceptionally curious, watchful, and eternally tireless, had memorized the cycles of the forest better than most people ever would. He had observed the behaviors of the forest’s inhabitants, from the smallest insects to the largest of predators. He knew the bees loved buzzing around flowers, the deer were the most cautious inhabitants of the forest, bolting at the first rustle of the leaves or break of a stick, always watching the canopy for the night prowlers. The red birds loved curiously checking on Skellington as he walked the forest almost as much as they loved their berries. He even spotted a giant drinking from the lake a few weeks ago, surprisingly gentle as it leaned down to scoop water with its massive arms. Skellington kept his distance to it, just like the smaller creatures did to him, this time avoiding being turned into bonemeal. Despite all he had learned, he had yet to receive an answer to what, or who he himself was.
Skellington had grown a new habit of collecting various oddities he found in the forest, anything new, anything he didn’t yet understand. He collected all manner of rocks, acorns, small bones, and various things he found on the forest floor. In his possession were now a rusted metal pin, a piece of flint, and even a silver ring he had found in a mound of night prowler poop. He had started by collecting flowers of various colours, shapes, and sizes, but learned quickly that even the prettiest of flowers wilted in his hands. He wondered if he was the one that killed them, or if they starved without anything to eat. He figured they must have gotten their sustenance from the ground, which naturally prompted him to test whether he too could eat dirt. Unfortunately, Skellington was no flower, and his attempt went just like any other.
The World Stones 