Fairspell Meadow I am drawn to you

The sun is high in the sky, but he's cold as hell. He's wandered far from Easthollow, past the mountains he'd sworn off once upon a time. Now crossing them hardly phases him; he's since learned that things like danger and evil are as capable of crossing mountains as he is. And this meadow is still lovely, even dusted with the coming winter's first offering of snow. He shivers a little harder as the thought crosses his mind.
He's about to start heading home when an approaching figure catches his attention. The stranger is moving quickly, with an obvious determination to his gait. He's set on a path to pass right by Alarian with some berth between them, assuming he doesn't notice him. The man cuts a striking dark figure against the pale, somewhat dreary landscape; he can't help but stop to watch for a moment, thinking of Outlander and feeling strange about it. Maybe those voyeuristic tendencies are rubbing off on him, because he doesn't feel any need to greet the stranger. He's content to watch him pass by, and to ponder whatever mission he might have.