Willfur
Willfur watches distant figures circling the Plains like debris around an eddy in a stream, detoured and sometimes briefly sheltered from the current by tall grass and level ground. He can't say why, exactly, he finds himself returning to Eluetheria periodically, why his restless spirit finds such comfort in the open space, in the long, unbroken line of the horizon stretching from one pole to the other, though he has theories, of course.
Standing idly, he wonders about the origin of each figure, where they might be going, and whether they even know. He'd thought he knew, when he'd first stepped foot here, but he's long since given up trying to make heads or tails of how where he'd been had led to were he is, when where he'd been had never connected to here before, or why it seems to have only been possible that once. Perhaps he's just meant to be here, for some unknown reason, and maybe there's a kind of camaraderie in the joint experience of displacement, of confusion and disorientation and searching for something familiar, between him and the aimless figures.
As the sun begins to set, a silver toned animal drifts inward from the peripheral, moving straight across his line of vision, sometimes hurried, sometimes slower, but always as if hunched against some trailing enemy. Curious, the mule turns his head to look back along her trail, but if there's a pursuit it's too well disguised for him to notice.
Hm.
Questions begin to pile up behind his eyes in their usual manner; quickly and without tact or courtesy, but he's well practiced at reining them in by now. "Hellooo!" He calls, trying to modulate his voice so it doesn't crack and bray, as it does sometimes when he shouts, mostly successfully. "Do you need any help?"
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