Wapun Meadow and I've got one foot in the door

"that so? well, it's a pretty tune still." knowing now this southern belle wouldn't startle, he lumbered closer. she has a talent, one that bitterly reminds him of the woman he's lost. an easiness to her songs that has no place in a world this cruel. 

a dry huff escapes him, a humorless laugh followed by a raised brow. she was keen, too. perhaps to much for her own good. "that obvious, huh?" he rasped. he kept a respectable distance before he took a seat, watching the birds flutter and dance at her feet. as if she's some force of nature they can't help but be attracted to. 

his shoulders sag. he runs a hand over his face, a heavy sigh escaping him. as if he'd been holding his breath this entire time and has just now come up for air. "doll, i been carryin' ghosts longer than you 'probly been alive." not a boast, but the sad truth. something he'd learned to live with.

but rala's ghost...well, it weren't just that. it still felt like she was here. on the edges of his vision, just out of reach. her laughter echoing in his mind like a broken record. he'd put many of his skeletons to rest...but hers? 

he just couldn't. not yet, and maybe not ever. 

"jus' the penance o' all the shit i've done. get used to it, at some point. learn to live with it." a roll of his shoulders, followed by a few cracks of weary bones. she didn't look haunted—but everyone had their ghosts if you looked hard enough. 

when she motioned to the berry bush, he shook his head with a chuckle. "reckon i'll pass. what'chu doin' out here, anyway? other than serenadin' birds and talkin' to haunted men."