Wapun Meadow but sentimental boy is my nom de plume

He's been lurking in the meadow for a few days now, knowing he should move on to somewhere more suitable; or just, move on. Keep moving until he can't go any further - maybe even visit the ocean. Each night the stars seem brighter, though. Closer. The moon keeps him fixated to this wide-open space, even in the daylight. He wonders (in that deliberate, lethargic manner that often makes him appear dull) if Arcturus can see it.

The mountains are so distant to him now. There is a range between him and home, an entire valley region now, and deep down Revui knows that home isn't really home anymore. It hasn't been for a while. Still, he cannot help but pine for things he's left behind: the self-assurance that comes along with being his sister's henchman, for one. The kinship of his family (now broken, or so he believes). Kukutux (she was never his, but the boy doesn't consider this obvious truth).

So he roams. He cannot sleep, and stares at the sky whenever it is clear enough - stars or not. He is doing exactly that as he trails through the meadow, oblivious to the stranger who is lurking nearby. The air here is different from the mountain: heavier, if that's possible. Crisp on his tongue, sharp as it blusters by. He doesn't notice the scent of wolf immediately but he does notice as a dark shape drifts among the reeds.