Honeyed Pasture trifolium fragiferum

drops in my weirdo

Loneliness had gripped him too.

He had briefly found comfort in the form of Lótë, only to find some piece of him...jaded. She wore the scent of another, her entire existence seemed to shift and morph.

He had never been a fan of change, that rung true now.

It was here he found somebody new though and this time the face of change was not so terrifying a thought. They reminded him of himself, a black ghost drifting alone.

Softly he rumbled a jagged sound and despite its coarse tone, he meant it to be a friendly sound. Indicated by the subtle wave of his tail.