Barrow Fields blue

The pirate slinks through the field lazily, weaving around mounds of dirt with little attention paid to his path forward. He's perfectly comfortable with simply existing right now, caught in some strange space between daydreams and hyper-fixation on his surroundings. He sees it all, yet he processes none of it. His thoughts are elsewhere, drifting, unable to be defined in the muted moment. There is little to do but wander for one who has chosen such a life, after all.