Overture Downs i know that you want one more night

sunset over the landscape of his mind, in darker shades than the pretty pastels scraped across the sky. the air is crisp but sweet with the promise of spring, and it's quiet — as quiet as the wilds ever get. it's beautiful here. he should feel beautiful, too, he thinks. but he just feels odd and out of place, awkward and bumbling as he trails behind alamar in search of herbs. his companions fits well enough; a dark flower made brilliantly luminous under the fading golden light, shadows defining the masculine edges to his features.
watching him is easier than wrestling with his self-hatred, the looming blue-greys and dim dreary purples of his current mood. between that and pretending he's of any use in this search, he almost doesn't notice the stranger at all. but the figure catches his eye after a few beats, and his attention shifts all at once, steps halting some distance behind alamar. he waits, uncertain.