Wapun Meadow Don't you dare forget the sun

Much as his senses had taken a beating after every misadventure he'd put himself thorugh, he was quick to taste a new scent on the wind, and lazily turned his head once the sound of disturbed grass got closer- closer. Half-cocked, he regarded this stranger—goldburned and wicked pretty, that sort of beauty a man like him worshipped, the sort that was scarred and battle-tasted.

Not the prettiest of faces—his, of course, was primed to greet her. Walking zombie turned into something resembling a man as he'd fix his posture and meet icy eyes with his own half dead.

Oh hello. Can I help you with something? He slipped on his best charm. Lord knows looks weren't enough to pull her in.