Overture Downs i know that you want one more night

the shadow cast across the reflective snow is a constant reminder of the presence that follows, lost as he once been as a child—alamar’s shadow mingles with jaime’s, however, instead of the distance that once was in those times since past.
step, step, they go, venturing forth on a search to replenish the merger stocks that remain in alamar’s clutches. jaime’s forearm is in decent condition, joints functional and little limp left.
downcast gaze and shuffling, however, notice the pause in jaime’s shadow. the distance growing the further alamar pulls ahead, before he, too, halts. head twists first towards his companion, focus not on alamar but ahead—so twists the head that direction.
pale, petite, dressed in a illumination of pink and orange from the setting sun—a boy staggers, the scent of blood. alarm bells ring.
fuck. alamar is amazing with words, just as much as i am. jaime, get the poultice i made for you. he barks out orders like he’s made to give them—the hollow and the tree where the rest of the mixture lays is not far, just down the slope they climbed.
alamar takes to approaching the kid—battered and bruised with a figurative skinned knee. hey, you should sit down. there are those commands again. drill sergeant morales. i got some herbs to help with that wound, if you want. a nose gestures to it, most medics would creep into personal space, but alamar knows to respect it.