The Sentinels after delacroix

Too lazy to translate! Assume he's speaking Creole pls!

He laughed as she spoke, hearing the words but not registering them entirely. It did not matter. She could speak of dreadful things, of death, of blood and guts and gore, of the forest fading in to nothingness, and he would love her for it! It mattered not. Her voice was a thing of beauty, and he listened to the syllables more than their intended meaning, and they filled him with great glee. In and out of understanding he went; he followed her, at her side, loving their proximity, becoming drunk off of her. When she mentioned rest, he sighed a great heavy breath from his lungs and, inhaling salt mixed with the earthy aroma of her, he grinned again.

Rest with me, my love. Let us sleep and dream together — and dance, and sing, and love, He rambled even as she led him to a safe place, and murmured quietly as soon as they were situated together. Tucked close to one another, her pale self and his buttery yellow, everything was right again. The fish - the beast by the stones too - were forgotten.