Where better to see the moon and stars than a meadow? And for once, Aamu seems more interested in the sky than the ground, not quite seeing the beautiful spring flowers he so loves the smell of but rather walking with his head tilted back, blue eyes hungrily drinking in the stars. It's not something he's quite aware of doing, it's just—it's kept happening since the incident in the Boondocks.
(Which, honestly, it hasn't been long enough that he's realized what's going on.)
He's more concerned with the darkened tint to his vision, the way the nights seem darker, the days murkier, how he squints ever so slightly into shadows he normally would have no trouble seeing into. Out here, he can pretend it's not happening, that he's just anxious about nothing. The moon is fine. The stars are fine. The night is bright.
So he walks through the flowers, an eerie ghost taking in the moon with hungry, eager eyes, until he stumbles upon the little artist. (How literally? Well, I don't know. He's not watching where he's going.)
(Which, honestly, it hasn't been long enough that he's realized what's going on.)
He's more concerned with the darkened tint to his vision, the way the nights seem darker, the days murkier, how he squints ever so slightly into shadows he normally would have no trouble seeing into. Out here, he can pretend it's not happening, that he's just anxious about nothing. The moon is fine. The stars are fine. The night is bright.
So he walks through the flowers, an eerie ghost taking in the moon with hungry, eager eyes, until he stumbles upon the little artist. (How literally? Well, I don't know. He's not watching where he's going.)
