Meadowlark Prairie ojirojika

Truly, Lullaren didn’t know what exactly he was doing. He was a bard, but he didn’t feel like singing. A dashing rogue, but he was falling off the wagon. For the most part, he desired to lie down for a while, close his eyes, lay beneath the sun, and maybe turn into a puddle.

That’s where he was, at the moment at least. On his back, head tipped skyward, but limbs everywhere as he peered up above him. Not exactly a stunning picture of elegance, as some might look at him and expect, but well. Lulla wasn’t in the mood, truly, for elegance and fairytales.