Whitebark Stream rotten apples

"Aree youuu, a dream?~"

Her voice - so softly sweet. Saccharine, drawled out in peaceful serenity, a stark contrast to his own husky tone. This girl was oddly enchanting, and perhaps, had he been more exhausted, the smoky traveller might've thought he was the one dreaming, the one speaking to naught but a ghost of his mind. No, this was very real. Soltero gazed a moment longer at her, at the way her eyes melded from a cosy brown to a soft arctic blue, and wondered to himself in silence, lips parted to encourage the timorous nature of his speech.

"Perhaps."

It couldn't hurt to play along, could it? Maybe she'd forget about him after the night had passed, as though he were indeed nothing more than a figment of her imagination - and perhaps that was for the best. He wasn't sure whether this was for her own wellbeing, or his own, but growing familiar to a man such as himself, it never seemed to bode well for either involved. He had never been very adept at the social life, not even while aiding leadership himself. He much preferred the security of his private life, the unsolved enigma, however despondent and isolated it could become. It was better if she thought he had never really existed at all.

"Mmm," he murmured, partially lost in thought - an aberrant one, this girl, but refreshing, almost. Unique. "Night holds many secrets. I wonder just how many there are, mysteries we'll one day solve, and those that we'll never know."