Rising Sun Valley [m] gwo pwen

I COULDN'T NOT

for days the anti-father ran, hid, nursed his own wounds; what remained of his encounter with the heathens was a hideous scar that now left a blaze of pink, irritated skin upon his back. he could not ignore it for much longer, and he knew this.
his daughter was close. he felt her presence somewhere near here, along with many others. he grew irritable at the thought of faceless figures who might have been touching her, who provided for her. he wonders if there are any children with her face that he does not know of.
but while he trailed closer like a huntsman following a doe, something else caught his attention; ah. it was that time of year, was it not?
a beautiful little thing, she, the siren. he had not seen one quite like her. andras approaches her silently, unbecoming; sunlight glimmers on the untainted side of his body in a way that almost made him look painted in shades of indigo.