Bearclaw Valley gardenia and king protea

For the past month, his life was changing in ways he couldn't have begun to track.
A spaceship, burning up and hurtling through the sky, metal plates being torn off by sheer speed until there was only the core of it, red-hot and acute. That could've been a good metaphor, if he found out a way for it to make any sense.
So he was pleasantly surprised when he saw a figure of something familiar. Evien's shoulders were backlit by the sun. In typical Taylor fashion, he fights the pressing urge to stare. He was fighting constantly like that. He takes a breath because he doesn't trust himself. Evien, he calls out, and you can hear the smile before you see it.
So many words crowd around the base of his throat. He's never felt like he had too much to say before. After a few moments of deliberation, he arrives lamely at You're here. In Ursus. And then, I'm glad.
He notices the injury on his cheek and hand; his face darkens imperceptibly, but he says nothing.