Barrow Fields filth

Reverie led, and for the most part, Boone followed.
Family, friends, whoever she sought to visit, little girl Blossom toddling at her hip; he never strayed too far, and never for long were they apart. Space when she needed it, and closeness all the same.
The coastline felt as if it dragged along forever. He hadn't realized it'd be so big, and so damn empty. Seabirds and foamy waves that came and went, sparse grasslands and cliffs of imposing stature. But none of it felt like home. A little further inland they went, and it was, admittedly, more his speed — big, rolling hills, flowerbeds, bright skies! Mountains, now, visible on the horizon!
But now, just as a rhythm had been settled upon, they were not alone.
Coming upon the cap of a hill, a cluster of legs was visible in the wildgrass like a stumbling fawn. Whoa, his lips curl into a grimace, speech whistled out the side of his mouth as he lumbers closer to the figure. A girl.
Reverie speaks. The girl snaps. An accent, just like his, and something warm spreads within his chest. Hey, hey, hey, a protective limb reaches out to cover little Blossom before he lowers himself into a crouch. we don't mean you no harm, ma'am. We're just makin' sure you're okay. he murmurs, urgency laced in the din of his voice. My name is Boone. This here is Reverie, and that right there is l'il Blossom.