Wild Berry Meadow ベリ

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ryūjirō watches her with quiet contemplation, the subtle movements of her gathering both quiet and calming. he doesn't speak right away, letting the silence stretch between them as the wind stirs the leaves. her scent, so distinctly tied to masa, lingers in the air—a reminder of connections, of bonds not easily severed. he senses the weight of her presence, not threatening, but purposeful, as though she carries a history within her that he’s yet to uncover. his amber eyes flicker toward her, noting the care with which she picks the berries, a sharp contrast to the steel of his own nature. aren't they bitter? he asks, his voice a low murmur, though his tone is not unkind. masa’s presence is felt in you, even here.