Sunset Valley no retreat from the world can mask what is in your face

he emerges from the woods ahead of his brother, eager to escape the crushing canopy formed by the trees around them. he's always needed to be able to see the sky; closed spaces feel like weight on his chest, like water in his lungs. quick footsteps take him further out into the valley, his gaze drifting upward. he slows, reluctantly allowing absynthe the opportunity to close the distance he's put between them.
he's in a mood. it's always been hard to explain his moods; they just happen, and he lets them, and god forbid anyone try to deny him this indulgence. maybe it's the weather, he reasons, hating the way the sun beats down on his shoulders. maybe that's just another excuse. he stares blankly and hatefully at the sun until his eyes start to burn and his vision starts to darken, and waits for his brother to catch up. he doesn't want to, but he finds he thinks little of what he wants these days.