Otter Creek be Bob Ross and paint me a picture

Are they all like you? He mused softly. Once upon a time the words might have been flirtatious but now they were heavy and tired now. Was this stranger offering him a place of plush kindness or did the dark forests to the east hide something sinister? Outlander would have loved to keep dwelling on it more but the faded ache in his head seemed to not want his brain to work.

He bent to lap at the water again, soothing his parched throat. The poppy flavor seemed to linger in the back of his mouth like a bad neighbor. He supposed he just needed to be grateful that the neighbor was bad but useful, not just an annoyance.