Firefly Ravine to suggest an ending is the one absurdity

It was still – a noiseless ambiance which in such magnitudes seemed deafening.  Overhead, the sky seemed to wither as it aged: greying with a gloomy overcast that snuffed out the cheerful, revitalizing sunshine that seemed necessitous to dismantle the grip of winters despair.  It draped across the land in a milky, blued shroud, the otherwise uninspiring monochromatic hues deepening with ominous, dense shadows that seemed impenetrable; wispy tendrils of ink ghosting across the countryside in disconcerting shapes of clawed fingers and miasmic figures.  He was not immune to the atmospheric influences – he loamed with a rather careful step, his senses so heightened that silence was an ear-piercing siren in his ears, and he could acutely feel the blood pumping through the cobweb of veinwork in his head.  Though in the distance – much to his satisfaction – the comforting gurgles of water began to trickle into the bubble that was his own self-made anxieties.  He wasn’t scared, of course – though his pace did pick up, and he found himself on the edge of the gorge rather quickly.  Again, not scared – simply, motivated.  A sigh befell his lips, his mouth slackening with relief as his eyelashes kissed the sharp peaks of his cheeks in hushed gratitude.  “Oh bugger,” he lamented, both in relief and grief.  He had never found much peace in silence, far too accustomed to the uproar of waves and seaside folly.  The sudden sound of dislodged stone popped his eyes open, ears perking high upon a disheveled scalp as he carefully leaned over the edge – what the devil?!  “Oi!”  He called to what seemed to be a young lad, spindly in form and obviously lacking in self-preservation.  “Just what in the bloody hell are you doin’!”  He had no qualms letting adults be idiotic: kids, however, he could not condone.

@Illidan