impossible reasons

Loren had been trying to coax the luxere closer to the Temple. They were necessary to the protection of everyone during the heart of LongNight, and since the beginning of the season, he'd been doing what he could. Unfortunately, he personally had caused a setback, and had redoubled his efforts to bring them back to the Temple. However, it seemed that few others were willing to join him. So he stood there, voice raised, bag of hay and apples on his back, food trough next to him, Astra by his side. It was only his companion's presence that made this bearable; without her, the Launceleyn figured he'd have given up long ago. However, every time she gazed up at him with adoring eyes, or rubbed against his side affectionately, he found the strength to keep going. Eventually, a few other luxere gathered around him curiously. After having driven them away with his dragon, he was glad to see they'd be willing to return to the area. Eventually, though, he needed a break, and he took a sip from the water skin to soothe his parched throat. It early in the day, and the heart of Deepfrost, but even so people were bustling around. However, most folks gave Loren a wide berth. And it wasn't because of his singing, which was fine. It was because he looked like a phantasm rather than a man. He couldn’t blame them—though the sight of people scurrying out of his path was quite annoying—given how he looked. He was dressed all in black, and it clung to his gaunt frame like a second skin. His hood was up, so all that was visible of him was the too pale skin of his face, the pink of his lips, and the icy blue of his eyes. Amalia LOREN Not quite an open book