The chill of the air is undeniable even in the early morn, and Cera brings his hands to rub against his bared arms. Dirt smears across his olive skin, though he is too used to the sensation to care much for the streaks it leaves behind. It is not quite so cold as to cloud his exhalations in mist, but wherever he is, it must surely be past spring. Leather-clad feet traverse the narrow path, viridescent gaze flittering between branches and horizon. He feels like a raw, exposed nerve. Everything, even the softest touch of the wind against his bare skin, feels like an invasion he has no hope to defend against.
Still, surely there must be some occupants in these lands?
As though beckoning a stranger forth with the force of his thoughts - or perhaps with the pitifulness of his lost countenance - a flurry of wingbeats startles the slim man. Instinctively he turns to the source of the noise, and his eyes alight upon a raven as pale as the moon herself. Though Cera is no stranger to the boldness of the corvidae family - memories of pulled feathers and hair, a flicker of grief in his hollow breast - there is an intelligence to the creature's cerulean eyes that stays his feet. Companion...? he thinks idly, only for the creature's beak to part on an echo of his word.
Cera's face alights like a new sun being born, and he clasps his hands in front of him with a wide, relieved smile. "Hello, feathered friend!" It tumbles from his lips in equal measures of exaltation and reverence, habitually flickering his eyes down in a display of respect that is out of place for the vessel he inhabits. "Pray tell me, where am I? I'm afraid I'm..." his throat chokes viciously on the word alone, grief drawing lines around his eyes and tightening his jaw for a brief moment. With a concentrated twitch of his brow, Cera takes a breath and dissolves the tension. "I'm afraid I don't know where I am." A simpler, easier truth to bear.
{Hope the tableless version is better for you!}
Still, surely there must be some occupants in these lands?
As though beckoning a stranger forth with the force of his thoughts - or perhaps with the pitifulness of his lost countenance - a flurry of wingbeats startles the slim man. Instinctively he turns to the source of the noise, and his eyes alight upon a raven as pale as the moon herself. Though Cera is no stranger to the boldness of the corvidae family - memories of pulled feathers and hair, a flicker of grief in his hollow breast - there is an intelligence to the creature's cerulean eyes that stays his feet. Companion...? he thinks idly, only for the creature's beak to part on an echo of his word.
Cera's face alights like a new sun being born, and he clasps his hands in front of him with a wide, relieved smile. "Hello, feathered friend!" It tumbles from his lips in equal measures of exaltation and reverence, habitually flickering his eyes down in a display of respect that is out of place for the vessel he inhabits. "Pray tell me, where am I? I'm afraid I'm..." his throat chokes viciously on the word alone, grief drawing lines around his eyes and tightening his jaw for a brief moment. With a concentrated twitch of his brow, Cera takes a breath and dissolves the tension. "I'm afraid I don't know where I am." A simpler, easier truth to bear.
{Hope the tableless version is better for you!}
