Fire rose high into the sky, burning through the darkness with a warmth that drew him in. He had been here before – long ago, when the moon was high in the summer sky and raucous voices rose to the air in song and cheer. The market seemed strangely different now – tamer, more foreign. Or perhaps it is the boy who had changed. Though he still very much appeared the child he truly was, Pan had grown a bit more solemn and a bit wiser, as time had stolen him away once more. He seems uncharacteristically unsure of himself, as he steps closer to the rising bonfire, shivering to stave away the nip of cold which crawled over him as the sickle moon continued to shine brightly into the night.
There is laughter around him, but the boy is strangely quiet – seemingly immune to the dizzying effects of light and sound. Blue and gold banners whip in the wind and he watches from a distance, unsure if he should join in the festivities even as he turns to make his way toward the merchant stalls.
“Step this way!” a voice cries out. “Beads and shawls!” Another. His grass-green eyes are hungry – seeking something or someone familiar but finding no one. Against his side, Oliver shivers and chirps indignantly in his satchel, before slithering out and resting comfortably like a wrap against his master’s nape. Stay close… the boy whispers, even as the otter seems to nod in agreement, perching higher on Pan’s neck to take a higher vantage point.
The scaled boy walks on, ducking at last into the colorful flaps of purple silk, following the scent of something sweet and something salty. It is the salt the draws him first – the scent of the sea. Home. The water would always remind him of home.
As his vision adjusts to the dimly lit shop, the boy blinks at colorful lanterns as they flicker with light. He marvels at bolts filled with colored silks, and his mouth begins to water at the scent of pastries warm from the oven. But it is the Kelpie who captures his attention more than all the rest, as he steps toward her with his more-usual unabashed demeanor, reaching with his teacup muzzle to lip at the shells in her mane.
You’re far from the sea. His voice is a whisper, hushed with appreciation as he offers the girl a tender smile. Are you lost, like me?
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