Muted. That's how Alistair would best describe his mind. Silent, absent...it needed to change, and so he took upon himself to keep himself occupied.
So he sat, quietly. Unaware of another's presence as he held a pad over his lap, a thin carved charcoal tip sketching along it.
It was of nothing in particular, more a landscape of the fields laid out before him. It's horizon and faint shadows that cut through the layers of swaying grass.
It felt peaceful, productive, to feed his mind with something other than trouble thoughts of love and loss. For once, he felt like himself, a rare treat to say the least.
"The human spirit needs places where nature has not been rearranged. The poetry of life is never dead...I was told that once before and never understood what that meant until now..."
Alistair spoke toRexanna having heard her steps disturbing the stillness that once surrounded him. Though he kept sketching and his eyes on the pad resting on his lap.
He would pause only briefly to turn and regard her. "Alistair...sorry, have a habit of waxing poetic over the littlest things."
So he sat, quietly. Unaware of another's presence as he held a pad over his lap, a thin carved charcoal tip sketching along it.
It was of nothing in particular, more a landscape of the fields laid out before him. It's horizon and faint shadows that cut through the layers of swaying grass.
It felt peaceful, productive, to feed his mind with something other than trouble thoughts of love and loss. For once, he felt like himself, a rare treat to say the least.
"The human spirit needs places where nature has not been rearranged. The poetry of life is never dead...I was told that once before and never understood what that meant until now..."
Alistair spoke to
He would pause only briefly to turn and regard her. "Alistair...sorry, have a habit of waxing poetic over the littlest things."
