Emberwood Happiness in Retrospect

It's with a certain bliss that's sprung from his moments of nothingness that Dante takes his next few steps forward, eyes still closed and his head bobbing ever-so-softly left to right, left to right, left to right. His careful movements are slow, meandering really, as he draws nearer to absolutely nowhere at all. A warm-toned hum begins to buzz in his throat as he walks aimlessly, the melody hardly identifiable from where it springs forth, breathy and careless. He's being- just being. 

The tender smile that's alit on his maw at the thought is abruptly washed away, a scent having caught his nose. It's nothing particularly sharp or intriguing, not lovely nor foul, but unmistakable nonetheless. Saints. His delicate song dies, slain by a hitched breath as his eyes blink open. There against a tree is a figure, cloaked in shadows that are interrupted by pallid markings which bloom over their face. They're a striking sight to behold -both for the fact that he'd been within his mind enough to have noticed them so late, and because he can't help but be reminded of the kit of a woodpecker as he observes their coat- and Dante startles, stumbling backwards briefly and tripping a bit over his legs. 

He blinks in an owlish manner when he manages to right himself, lips parting as though he wishes to speak before his jaw snaps shut promptly. Of fucking course. He would run into a saint in Emberwood, (where he's beginning to think there might be worries). It startles a chuckle from him, the irony of it. You're not supposed to be here, he quips, almost to himself, before he can think better of it. The young man's eyes widen comically once he realizes what he's said, quickly spitting in a rush to correct his remark, No- I mean- That's not what I meant, this is neutral territory, I just... His lips purse, words having trailed off for lack of direction, and he settles his gaze on the stranger once more, looking on with tense silence.