Rosewater Oasis oh, i get it. you're not allowed to talk.

stark watches as the stranger avoids him, as if he has the plague. he supposes, perhaps, it is a blessing in a disguise. he does not have the energy to entertain strangers and the stranger seemed wholly done with exchanging small talk.

stark takes another few drinks from the pond, determined not to show any further vulnerability to a stranger, rising to his paws. it takes some effort and his legs feel a little unstable beneath him; pale green gaze watching the pale man gather the desert roses.

a quirk of his brow given, feeling awkwardness like a palpable entity between them. he doesn't bother offering the stranger a goodbye, no doubt the man would realize soon enough that he'd left the scene. the sands swallow him up eagerly as he continues to head east, hoping it's the right direction and not going to simply take him in a circle.