Beneath the canopy of ancient oaks, Renard Blackwood stands between his two reflections, the man and the fox, the shadow and the soul.
The forest knows his name, though it speaks it only in rustle and sigh. Here, among roots older than sin, he remembers who he was before the bargains, before the masks.
 
This portrait captures the quiet moment when his cleverness gives way to something older, a flicker of wild grace.
 
🕯️ From the world of Tongue of the Serpent, where every trickster has a truth, and every truth hides a price.