So southeast he flies, past a sad border long closed, past quiet fields blanketed in snow, southeast into the heart of the night-- and when the wind gently steers him to earth, he lands among the flowers.
Not just any flowers, of course. They sing and laugh and they make him feel...
They make him feel like all these years he's never really known where he was. Like even when he was in the most familiar of places-- his favorite nook at the library, or tucked among monks at the tavern, or in flight with Delumine unfurled below him and the wind's song in his wings-- even when he was home, he was a little bit lost,
would always be a little bit lost.
The flowers make him want to drown in the belonging of the present. They sway in the breeze and he sways too, for hours, committing their song to memory.
- - -
ooc: beep boop! I'm down to branch off into a separate thread to ponder the flowers if anyone would like <3
***STAFF EDIT
@mateo has rolled a 6! He has been awarded +150 signos for interacting with the flowers.
