Hoshor Plains parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme

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Hate. He was filled with so much of it, and yet one would never know looking upon him.

Hate for his brutish father, hate for the sleek, feminine figure he was born to, hate for his brothers who ran like cowards, hate for the sluts he was made to call sisters.

But looking upon him, you would never know.

Walking through tall grasses with his stare distant, he was pulled from his thoughts by a voice he did not recognize. He rarely recognized voices out here. Lifting his head he looked to spot them, grinning when he did. Hello! No, I don't, I'm only wandering. His tone conversational and friendly, he was quick to begin making his approach of the stranger.