Overture Downs spoken words like moonlight,

words clipped like that of a caged birds wings. she found herself curious as to what he was holding back, and whether it was by choice, or by threat. she took a breath as he moved past her, some faint, familiar scent upon him that she could not quite distinguish, before rala turned her head over her shoulder so that she may gaze at him.

cloaked in darkness, in shadow. no, they do not, she agreed. places do not mean much when they are gone, at all. an image of black sands flooded her mind, for a moment. of a body broken by the crags and the waters. she pushed the thought aside before she stood, turning towards him. you do not wish to talk, she noted, said in a way similar to a sentence, rather than a question, until: do you? but she watched him for a moment longer and answered her own curiosity, shaking her head and turning away.

she would return her nose to the grasses, humming, still.