The Sentinels les moissonneurs

His head drifted from being raised high to witness the trees, to finding its way low as he tread across the withered grass. The sound of the bugs had drifted off hours ago, but their bodies remained. Renoir stopped at a pile of them and was investigating the empty husks, tempted to try and break them with his teeth, but he didn't reach out or bare his teeth. Before he had a chance to do much else a sound - a bark - rippled through the air. He lifted his head and turned sheepishly; upon spotting the dark figure he thought it was the man from the beach, and felt a mixture of emotions because of this. Glee, excitement, apprehension, an overwhelming shyness — and as the boy got closer Renoir realized it wasn't him, but a young fellow that looked very similar. A brother? A son?

Apremidi, mesye- he murmured, ears fanning either side of his head awkwardly. Assuming this boy spoke with the same fluency of Deirdre and her father, Renoir made no attempt to adjust himself. He remained physically neutral though, everything about him suggesting a calm and pliant demeanor. Mwen te panse kote sa a ta pwal an sekirite omwen. Lanmè a se konsa fèmen , e petèt krikèt vèt yo ta bezwen pè ... Oswa petèt peyi a ta dwe yon manyen twò ah , sezonman , pou gou yo. He smiles weakly. The humor in his words does not extend beyond them, and for the first time in a while he holds real sadness in his eyes.